


I Bite Back

by Sams_Unicorn



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, Blood, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Vampire Sex, except now he drinks blood, kind of, light gore, peter's powers are the same, the good guys make mistakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2019-11-23 17:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18154835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sams_Unicorn/pseuds/Sams_Unicorn
Summary: This is not what Peter imagined when he first came up with the name. He supposed it worked out for the better, though. This is what spiders do, isn’t it?Spin the webs. Catch the flies. Drink their blood.





	1. Chapter 1

Spider-Man.

This is not what Peter imagined when he first came up with the name. He supposed it worked out for the better, though. This is what spiders do, isn’t it?

Spin the webs. Catch the flies. Drink their blood.

And tonight’s dinner is brought to you by an attempted drug deal. Peter managed to scare off the buyer just by showing up. Everyone knows the dealer is the bigger evil, gaining from someone else’s addiction like that. It’s despicable. And somehow also delicious.

The woman is shaking in her bonds because she knows what happens when Spider-Man traps someone. She’s heard the stories. Everyone has. It’s been all over the news since the first one. The Daily Bugle can’t seem to get enough of it. Every time Spider-Man catches a baddie, J. Jonah Jameson personally interviews them to ask them what it’s like to be violated by the New York City’s crime fighting creepy crawler.

The worst part is that some people actually feel sympathy for the criminals. It’s not like Peter is particularly fond of it either. He didn’t choose this for himself. He never wanted any of this even with the perks. His condition is morbid, and it makes Spider-Man more of a monster than a hero.

He can’t stop. If he does, he risks lashing out at the people that he loves. Ned still won’t talk to him after their fight. He almost hurt him. He almost grabbed Ned to drink him dry…

That will never happen again.

This is the only way to keep himself in check.

His drug dealer struggles against the webbing that keeps her stuck against the building. “Please, I’m sorry. I-I swear, I’ll never deal again! Please let me go.”

He ignores the fear in her voice and grabs her chin, roughly turning her head to the side. Her neck is forcibly bared as he lifts up his mask just above his lips. She whimpers when his teeth penetrate the flesh. And for that first moment when he tastes the blood, everything seems a little bit better. It spreads warmth throughout his body and relieves his sensory overload as the rest of the world slips away. Then she thrashes against him and Peter has to ignore how much he loves that.

This is all wrong. Ben would have been repulsed by him.

Peter shoves her shoulder against the brick wall behind her and presses himself flush against her until she is still. He hates himself for getting a little bit hard. He wishes he were dead, but he can’t do that to May.

Something makes his skin crawl suddenly and he has to cut his meal short. He jumps away and up just as a needle wizzes by and misses him. There’s no time to look for his attacker before he knows he needs to get away. Wrenching his mask back down, he darts up the alley wall and swings away on a web, but somehow the person is still on his tail.

More needles fire off in his direction. Every single one of them miss him. “Hey, Spider-Dick! Quit making my life hard and stay still,” a voice shouts from behind him.

Peter finally chances a backward swing to see none other than Iron Man flying at him. The hard metal of the suit hits Peter hard enough to break the webbing he was swinging on and knock the wind out of him. For a moment, he was too shocked to fight.

The Iron Man. Tony Stark himself.

It would be a big moment for Peter if he weren’t running for his life.

Peter feebly pushes at the cold metal of Stark’s shoulder as he tries to breathe again. He feels a pinch on his neck and suddenly things are sluggish. The world slips away from him. He thinks he’s going to fall until a metal arm tightens around him. For the first time in a long time, then everything goes dark and he’s sleeping.

 

***

 

When Peter wakes up, it’s slow and difficult. It’s been so long since he’s had to wake up that he almost didn’t realize he was sleeping at first. He stayed still with his eyes closed, just observing his senses coming back one by one until he realized he was sleeping, somehow actually sleeping, and that now he is awake.

He suddenly remembers what happened before.

That’s why his room smells funny. This isn’t _his_ room.

Peter jerks awake so hard, he probably should’ve had headrush. He only manages to scoot the chair he’s strapped to an inch. There’s chains wrapped around him. A lot of very thick chains.

His struggling alerts someone sitting in a desk across the room. The very large, very nice room. As far as kidnappings go, this is the least threatening setting he ever thought he’d end up. “W-what--”

“Oh, look! Arora emerges from her eternal sleep.” It’s Tony Stark. The man sits with his feet kicked up, a drink in his hand and a smirk on his face.

Peter can’t help but marvel at the sight. He sits there in some sweat pants and a grease stained wife beater. It’s _the_ Tony Stark. There’s a peculiar, faint glow under the chest of his shirt, but it’s still the Tony Stark. Genius, philanthropist, playboy, billionaire.

_Kidnapper_.

His mask is gone and it makes him feel so much more vulnerable. He tries moving in his bonds again only to hear them clink against each other. “What the hell is this?” Peter demands. The words come out weaker and slower than he meant. Whatever Stark injected him with, it’s still wearing off.

“This,” Stark gestures around them, “is my domain. You like?”

Peter jerks, hoping to break the chains. The drug in his system is fading quickly. He feels them stretch slightly, a couple of links bending at his will.

Stark rolls his eyes. “Oh, relax, Parker. Even your strength can’t break those. And even if you do get away from me, I know where to find you, your family, and your friends.”

That makes the vigilante go pale. “Is that a threat?”

“Only if you don’t cooperate,” he shrugs.

Peter guffaws. “What could Iron Man possibly want from me? I’m doing the small scale version of your job!”

Stark drops his feet to the floor to fully face his captive. For a moment, he looks just as baffled as Peter. “You’re doing the opposite of my job, kid.”

“I-I’m stopping the bad guys.” Stark sets his drink down and stands from his desk. He steps leisurely in Peter’s direction. “Unless… oh my God, are you a Mob boss Mr. Stark? Am I catching your people on accid--”

“I’m not a mob boss,” Stark cuts him off. “I want to know who did this to you.”

Peter looks down at his bonds. “Uh, you did. Just now. I still don’t know why.”

“Stop being coy.” His serious tone makes the room seem quieter than before. “Who turned you, Peter? Who do you work for?”

There’s something missing here. Something Peter doesn’t understand. He’s sensing a more imminent danger now, he needs to make an escape and fast. He slowly begins to push his arms out against the chains. They bite into his skin, but the sting is only a minor inconvenience. It’s much easier now, he can feel them stretch away from his body. 

“My powers didn’t come from anyone, if that’s what your asking,” he tells Stark honestly.

“Powers?!” Stark shouts. His tone is bordering hostel and he looks like he’s about to start hitting Peter. “This isn’t a fucking game!”

The chains around Peter groan and snap, falling from around him. He jumps up and throws the chair at Stark. The man barely has time to duck away. Peter tries to web Stark to the wall, but his web shooters are gone. He jumps to the high ceiling instead as Stark is still recovering.

His kidnapper looks around the room, waiting for the first strike. His fighting stance only protecting him from things in front of him.

Peter launches himself at Stark from above, easily pinning the man down. He’s surprised by how much easier it is for Stark to resist his strength, but he just adds more pressure until he’s as still as a mouse in a sticky trap, trying to thrash himself away to no avail.

Peter has yet to find the limits of his strength. He’s always holding back so he doesn’t hurt anyone, but there is not something or someone that he can’t break with just his hands.

There’s fear in Stark’s eyes now. He desperately tries some dirty moves, but Peter anticipates that kick and moves so that head butt is useless. “Okay, so maybe you do have powers,” he quips, voice quivering only slightly.

Peter feels it again, that hunger gnawing at him from the inside out. He never got to finish his meal. He bends down to latch on, but something is wrong. Stark smells _different_. His spider-senses are warning him of a hidden danger, and it’s so disappointing. This has never happened before. He’s never been limited to who he can drink, but the warning bells in his head don’t stop.

He’s hovering there, mouth over Stark’s neck, ready to bite down, but he can’t.

“I bite back, Peter,” Stark tells him.

It hits him like a punch. One that could actually hurt him. Stark isn’t human. Peter backs off, but he doesn’t let go. “What’s wrong with you?” He can hear the bewilderment in his own voice.

“Same thing that’s wrong with you. Except a little bit different, apparently.”

Peter releases Stark slowly backing away and putting distance between them. This was never something he was prepared to hear.

Stark stands and brushes imaginary dust off of himself. “Do you want a drink, Parker?”

Peter’s chest feels tight, his breathing becoming heavier with every inhale. “I’m not twenty-one,” he manages to say. He’s starting to spiral into a panic attack.

Stark turns back toward his desk, reclaiming his glass of dark, thick liquid. “I meant blood, smartass.

It’s too much for Peter. He bolts for one of the floor to ceiling windows and jumps, glass falling around him, with him. He grabs the side of the building to stop his descent. Stark tower, he realizes. His chest tightens more.

He ends up in an alley, not exactly sure how he managed to get himself there. He’s crouching against a dumpster, just trying to breathe, but his chest is so tight. There’s no room for air in him. His hands are shaking. He punches the pavement below him, hard enough for the cement to crack and shift. Hard enough for his hand to explode in pain.

But the pain is so good. Peter focuses on it, feels every nerve light up on fire as he tries to move his fingers. He can breathe again. He takes a few deep calming breaths and recuperates as his thoughts sort themselves out.

He scales one of the buildings he’s currently tucked between. From the roof, he can see Stark Tower again. He knows he should go back. They have more to talk about. Peter wants to know everything.

But there’s sunlight peeking out from the horizon. May is probably worried. She’s going to end him when he gets home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back story time! Time to fill in some plot holes before we move forward in the story.

  

When Peter makes it home, May is sitting on his bed waiting for him when he comes in through the window. He knows he’s lucky he decided to leave his Spider-Man sweats on the fire escape. He thinks it must be a strange sight to see, him coming home in nothing but his boxer shorts.

She doesn’t seem to care about that part in general. May dashes over to him before he’s even all the way inside. She crushes him to herself with the iron grip that only a mother can possess. “I almost called the police,” she said, squeezing him tighter.

Peter reciprocates as much as he can without hurting May. “I’m okay, I promise.” He ignores the throbbing in his hand. It’s healing already, but it’s the last thing she’ll notice.

“You should have called.”

“I know, May. I’m sorry.”

They stay like that for a few minutes longer. May is sniffling when she finally loosens her hold. She backs away and wipes her eyes. “Get ready for school. We’re going to talk when you get home.”

And that was that. Peter went to school. Ned avoided him. He sat with Michelle at lunch. They ate in silence. Normal food curbs Peter’s appetite, but his hunger eats away at him. He had intended to get his entire fill last night. Now he’s paying for it. It agitates him, but it’s not too bad yet. The fact that Tony Stark is somehow like him is much more distracting. The things he said make Peter’s mind buzz like static. Someone did that to Stark. Someone made him into that.

Peter still doesn’t understand what the man meant by doing the opposite of his job. He’s stopping crime. Thugs are afraid to go out at night. Women are asking Spider-Man to walk them home despite his disturbing reputation. The streets are safer now.

By the time he gets home, he’s starving. He breathes deeply and reminds himself to keep it together around May. Let her say whatever she needs to say. Do not feel. Do not react. Do not lose control. He sighs and finally opens the door to their apartment.

To his surprise, he can hear May giggling from the living room. He was expecting to be reprimanded the moment he walked through the door. He steps down the hallway cautiously only to find Stark sitting uncomfortably close to May on the couch. He tenses up, ready for a fight.

“Peter!” May says when she sees him. “Why didn’t you tell me you applied for an internship with Tony Stark?”

Peter isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t know what kind of game Stark is playing, and he’s too afraid to guess wrong. He’s also certain if the billionaire gets any closer to May, he’ll lose it. He knows if that man is anything like himself, he doesn't trust him near anyone he loves.

Stark turns to him and winks. “Heya, sport.”

He opens his mouth to respond, closes it, then tries again and only manages a few sounds. There’s too much happening at once and he doesn’t seem to have the right amount of time to process it.

“I know it’s a bit overwhelming. You meeting me, getting an internship, et cetera, et cetera…” Stark says as he stands. “Why don’t we go for a drive and get something to eat so we can discuss the details.” He looks to May. “That is if your incredibly attractive aunt doesn’t mind.”

She blushes and it makes Peter want to rip Stark’s throat out. He doesn’t trust the older man for a moment. “Of course! Don’t take too long, though. Peter and I have a lot to talk about when he gets back,” she trills.

“Won’t be a problem Mrs. Parker.” Stark nudges Peter back in the direction of the door. He complies only to get Stark out of the apartment.

The moment the door shuts behind them, Peter throws Stark against the opposite wall and pins him there. “If you ever come near her again--”

“Relax, kid,” he cuts Peter off. “I made a mistake last night. We’re on the same side here.” Stark can only manage to wiggle under Peter’s strength. “We really do need to talk.”

Peter considers it. He still doesn’t trust Stark, but he knows he can easily take the man on. His grip eases slowly, but he stays in Stark’s space just long enough to be intimidating. “If you try anything, I will throw you into the ocean,” he threatens. It sounded slightly more menacing in his head.

Stark gestures to the building’s elevator. “I have a car waiting.”

He wasn’t lying. Parked along the street is the shiniest black car with the darkest tinted windows Peter has ever seen in his life. He stops in his tracks at the sight of it. Stark opens the back door and gets in, sliding over so Peter can get in too. Peter hesitates, but his spider-senses are quiet as can be. There’s no reason to delay another moment.

The car is as sleek on the inside as it is on the outside. The driver is hidden behind the privacy divider. It reeks of brand new leather and cleaning chemicals, but there’s an aroma that’s actually enticing underneath all that. The car starts moving as soon as he closes the door behind him.

“Let’s pick up right where we left off. Do you want a drink, Peter?” Stark asks as he pulls a box out from under his seat. He opens it to reveal hospital style bags of blood.

Peter can’t believe what he’s seeing. The blood was what he was smelling so faintly, and hell, it smells so good. Stark offers a bag to him and he snatches it up, sinking his teeth into it like flesh.

Stark looks appalled at the animosity of the move. “Christ, kid, I could’ve put it in a glass for you.”

The taste is off. Not necessarily bad, but… not as rich as he’s used to. “Tastes funny,” he mumbles around the plastic.

“That’s because it’s not fresh from the tap. It does the trick, though,” Stark says as he takes another bag and pours it carefully into a short, crystal glass. It easily looks like he’s just drinking a dark alcohol. “How often do you get your fill?”

Peter immediately feels better after getting something in his system. He drinks until he’s just sucking the last little bit out and the bag curls in on itself. “I get at least a few people every week. I only drink enough to keep myself civil. If I have to, I can manage without for two weeks, but I get pretty hangry.”

“Hangry?”

“Hungry and angry. Angry because I’m hungry. Hangry,” he nods.

“Don’t ever say that word again.”

Peter shrugs and takes another bag from the box. “May I?”

“You can have as much as you want. You’re obviously starving yourself.” Stark just watches him finish the second helping. “Tell me how this happened to you.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at him. “You first.”

Stark sighs heavily. “Fine.” He takes a long swig from his drink. “You were pretty young when it happened, but you probably read about it. Remember when I was taken hostage?”

Peter nods, his mouth currently sucking down another pint.

“A lot of parts of that story were kept from the public. The biggest reason being that it was a good friend of mine who paid those people to kill me. The name Obadiah Stane sound familiar?”

That made Peter perk up. “Former Stark Industries CEO, Obadiah Stane tried to kill you?”

“Could you imagine the hit our stock would've hit if that got out?” Stark said rhetorically. “By the way, I'm gonna have to make you sign an NDA.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “That's fine.”

“Anyway, I was demonstrating a new weapon for the military and on our way back, a group called the Ten Rings attacked us. I was injured and taken captive. These guys weren't you're average terrorists, though.” Stark sits further back in his seat. “They were like you and me. They made me like this. They thought it would heal me right up, but even super healing can't eject shrapnel. It's still there,” he says, tapping his chest through his shirt. Peter hears a sharp clicking when his fingernail makes contact with a hard surface instead of flesh.

Stark continues, “My cellmate, Yinsen, was the doctor who put me back together. He was also my food source. Turned out, everyone in Ten Rings was a vampire.”

Peter chokes mid-drink. “There--There's no such th-thing as vampires,” he says between coughs.

“What would you call us then?”

He regains his composure. “I don't know. Similarly genetically fucked?”

Stark lets out an amused chuckle. “I don't know how it went for you, but for me, this is straight from legend. Drink blood, become strong, never age… All that shit. It's straight up vampirism. There's a lot you don't know.”  

Peter doesn't like the sound of that. He really hopes that his condition is more different than alike to Stark's. Never aging? He can't be sixteen forever! May will eventually notice. Ned will grow old and die, and he'll have to watch.

“You okay, kid? You look far away right now.”

“I'm good,” he lies. “What happened after that?”

“They wanted me to make them a missile. Instead, Yinsen and I made an Iron Man prototype. I used it to escape… Yinsen didn't make it.” Stark downs what's left in his glass. “When I got home, I didn't find out Stane was behind everything until much later. He was a vampire too, and he showed me his set-up, how he gets blood discreetly without hurting anybody. He had me fooled until he tried to make his own Iron Man suit, tried to kill me with it,” he's unbuttoning the top part of his shirt and pulling an undershirt down so Peter can see, “he used my own weapons against me, and he stole this right out of my chest.”

Peter gasps when he sees it. The beautiful blue glow of an arc reactor _inside_ Stark's chest, over his heart. He has to refrain himself from reaching out to touch it. “I… I always just assumed it was part of the Iron Man suits.”

“That's what you're supposed to believe.”

He doesn't look away from the glow. “Do the Avengers know that you're a… vampire?” Peter shutters at having to use the word.

Stark pulls his undershirt back into place, forcing Peter out of his trance. “The Avengers know everything.”

Peter finishes his second bag. He guesses it's his turn to share. The hostility he was holding on to has dissolved at hearing his story. “I, uh… I was on a class field trip,” he says slowly. “We went to a Stark Industries lab. There were these radioactive spiders. One of them must’ve gotten out.” Peter rubs at a spot on his hand. “It bit me.”

Stark looks apologetic all of the sudden. He runs a hand over his face. “That was one of my projects. Those spiders were radioactive, but the were also infected… by me. I was looking at different aspects of my condition, hoping I could get something good to come out of a super shitty situation and help others, or maybe find a cure. We only ever got to testing rats before I shut it down. God, I'm sorry, Peter. That shouldn't have happened.”

Peter looks down at his hands. He wants to be angry at Stark, but he accepted his fate already. He's more afraid of what this all means for him now. “So… I am a vampire?”

“I'm sorry,” Stark says again.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” he demands.

“Tell me more about what happened after you were bitten, and then maybe I can help you manage.”

Peter can only nod. He takes a deep breath, feeling defeated all of the sudden. “I didn’t even realize anything was wrong at first. I went home and passed out pretty early. When I woke up, things were different. My senses were dialed up, I could see without my glasses, I was stronger and sticking to walls… It seemed pretty cool at first.”

“When did you start craving blood?”

Peter picked up one more bag and sipped at it through the tupe attached to it like a straw. It looked comically like a child drinking from a juice pouch. “About a week later. May was opening mail. She got a paper cut. I… I freaked out and barricaded myself up in my room. I stayed there for days. I thought I was becoming some kind of monster…”

Stark puts a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder. There's a sympathetic gleam in his eyes. “Just because we're vampires, doesn't mean we have to be monsters, you got that?”

Peter flinches. “I don't like that word,” he mutters.

He squeezes Peter's shoulder before dropping his hand again. “Okay, so I get why you came up with the whole vigilante thing. You're trying to make the best of a terrible situation. I'm curious as to how you came up with it, though. I mean, you could've easily gone down a very different road.”

“Well, after the spider, but before the blood, I didn't really know what to do with myself. I saw a flyer for some wrestling match. The kind with masks and costumes, you know? They pay the winner and everything. I thought I could make a quick buck,” Peter shrugs taking another sip. “Turns out it was a scam. I won and they wouldn't pay me. When I was walking out of the building, some guy with a duffle bag was running at me. He was robbing the money office.”

“You stopped him?” Stark guessed.

Peter hesitated. “...No actually. I should have. God, I should have.” His voice is shaking at the memory. “I moved out of his way. I was kind of pissed at them for screwing me over, so I thought ‘it's not my problem. They deserve it.’”

He wants to put the bag of blood down. It's still half full, but Peter has suddenly lost his appetite. Stark takes it from him before he can even consider letting it touch the leather seats of the car. Their fingers brush and Peter lets him take it. Stark pours what's left of it into his glass as Peter continues.

“Then, I spiraled at home. I wouldn't let anyone in my room. Ben was mad about me missing school and about me not telling him why. May called Ned over to talk some sense into me…” Peter hung his head in shame. “I was so angry. I said some things that I can't take back. Ben tried to break down my door so I ran.” It's getting hard to talk. “Ben followed me. He tracked my phone into a bad neighborhood.” The words keep lodging in his throat. He feels like he's choking on them. “I was right around the corner when I heard the gunshot. He was already dead by the time I got there.”

Peter doesn't realize he's gasping for air until Stark is pulling his shoulder down, trying to fold him in half. His lungs burn for air they can't seem to get. “Head between your knees. Just breathe,” Stark instructs calmly.

“C-can't,” he chokes out. “I-I can't!”

“Yes you can. Inhale, hold it for three beats, and let it out. Repeat. You can do it.”

Peter wonders how he got here. Not even an hour ago, he kind of wanted to punch Stark in his perfect, famous face. Now the man is talking him through a panic attack, and it's working. He grabs Stark's hand, the one still holding his shoulder, with his still healing one and squeezes hard. He can hear him gasping in pain, but Stark doesn't retract it. Peter's own broken fingers scream at him as he comes back into himself. Each breath is a little bit easier than the last. His grip loosens around Stark's hand slowly, but he doesn't let go. He anchors himself to the warmth of that touch. It gives him the courage to finish talking.

“I don't know how I ignored all the blood after being so hungry,” Peter admits, his head still down between his knees. “But I saw the killer running away. I don't remember making the decision to follow him. I can't remember how we ended up in that abandoned building. When I saw his face, I completely lost it. It was the same robber that I let get away. He shot Ben for his wallet.”

Peter remembers swiping the pistol from him like it was candy from a child. He remembers throwing it on the concrete ground and hearing it break into pieces from the sheer force. The fear taking over the man's features was comical at the time. Peter hadn't hesitated to hit him with everything he had. The crunch of bones under his hands never deterred him.

“I hit him until all I could smell was his blood. It felt almost natural to bite him. The moment I tasted the blood… I forgot who I was, where I was, and who I was drinking and why.” He sits back up, still holding Stark's wrist as he rests against the back seat. “It was like I had just forgotten everything. It all came back to me slowly while I was drinking him. Then I remembered Ben and what kind of person he was. I thought about what he would think of me then. I stopped.” He finally meets Stark's gaze. “I was going to drink from him until he was dead, but I stopped.”

Stark doesn't say anything. There's a sympathetic shine in his eyes.

“I never told anyone that,” Peter realizes out loud. He sniffles and blinks tears out of his eyes. “Do you talk people through panic attacks often? I didn't even know to do that stuff.”

“I've had my fair share of experience there,” he shrugs. “C'mon. Let's get you set up. I can answer all your questions. Then we can discuss pay.”

Peter didn't even notice the car had stopped. They're parked outside the doors of Stark Tower. “Pay?”

“Yes, I pay my interns, unlike other companies.”

“Wait, the internship is real?”

Stark smirks. “It is now.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

The lobby of Stark Tower is bustling with all sorts of people. It's huge and designer glamorous and yet it is somehow crowded. The decor is expensive. Everyone is dressed for business that Peter can't nor does he want to understand. It makes him feel like rat in a kitchen. Like he doesn't belong here. 

Stark is guiding him through the chaos, a hand on his back and rushing him on as his eyes catch a chandelier. They end up in an empty elevator with only two floor buttons.  _ A private elevator _ . 

“FRIDAY, take us straight to the lab,” Stark says. 

A disembodied voice startles Peter so much he jumps. “Yes, Boss. Can I do anything for Mr. Parker?” 

He can't help the wide eyed look he gives Stark. “N-no, thanks. I'm good,” he speaks. 

The door slides open and they step into the same room Peter had been tied up in last night. He didn't notice before how the lighting was dim enough that it didn't irritate his eyes and the air was overall scentless with only little traces of Stark lingering. 

Peter turned his head to the window that he jumped from, but none were broken. Stark probably had it replaced right away. There isn't a problem that money can't solve in New York. 

There are multiple workstations spread around with a different project on each one. Tools, many that Peter recognizes and even more that he doesn't, are spread around the workshop. It's clean, but cluttered. 

There's no way to know if Stark has always kept his things this shiny, but Peter remembers immediately cleaning his room after he changed. He had gone through everything he had, wiped down every wall and shelf, washed any and all fabrics, and Fabreezed the fuck out of his bed. Heightened smell is more of a curse than a blessing. 

He turns back to Stark. “This is awesome! Is this where you build your suits?” 

“And other things,” the man shrugs. Stark is leaning back on a desk, just watching Peter take it all in. “This is where we will be working.” 

“You want me in your lab? With you?!” Peter is losing his mind. 

“I looked you up, Parker. You're the top of your class in every subject. And it turns out I could use an extra eye here,” he says.  ****

Peter tries to find words, but Stark is talking again before he can even open his mouth. 

“This is how it goes; I will pay you, feed you, and upgrade your suit in exchange for help in here and your continued small-scale crime fighting.” 

“Mr. Stark--”

“Oh, and no more live feeding--” 

“That's not a problem!” Stark finally stops talking and meets Peter's eyes. He seems almost surprised at being cut off. “It was never something I wanted to do. Any pleasure I took from it was involuntary.” Peter hangs his head, shame creeping up his neck. 

“I know, kid.” The air grows heavy with only the lull of electricity buzzing reaching their ears. “Soooo,” he says, just as awkward as Peter feels, “any questions? Comments or concerns?” 

Peter glances up again. “Yeah, a few. Where does the blood come from? Do you steal it?” 

Stark laughs. “No, no. I'm not robbing blood banks, I'm running a couple.” 

“Do-do people know where it's going?” The question is so innocent, sounds so innocent even to himself.

“They're real blood banks, Peter. Everything is normal. We take the blood, pay people an incentive for their generosity, and test what's usable and what's not. We drink what isn't usable.” 

“Oh.” Peter huffs in relief. Nothing he thinks he knows or assumes about Tony Stark is true. It eases the rising tide of his worries about accepting Stark's help. 

A brief daydream about a mafia run by Stark titters through his head, but he pushes it back. 

“So like bad blood as in…?” 

“As in compromised. Diseased, sick, drugged, alcoholic… The list goes on. None of those things affect us. It doesn't taste any different. Hospitals can't use it, so we help ourselves in disposing it. Everybody wins.” 

Peter thinks about what goes into setting up a program like that. How much money does Stark go through just for this specific prospect of his life?

“Why is everyone's first question about the blood?” Stark asks nobody in particular. 

Peter perks up. “Everyone?” 

“What, you thought you were the only one I've found?” 

“I didn't even know there was anyone like me at all until yesterday.” 

“Touché,” Stark nods. 

Peter's phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out to find that May just texted. “May wants to know how much longer I'll be.” 

Stark moves toward Peter, hand outstretched. “To be continued, then.” 

Peter takes the offered hand, shaking it firmly like he's heard he's supposed to. Stark's hand is warm and calloused. It makes his skin tingly, but not in the usual spider-sense way. “Thank you for this opportunity, sir. This is going to be  _ so cool _ ,” he says, practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Come by again tomorrow after school.” Stark tells him. 

Their hands fall away and Peter doesn’t like how cold the air is hitting his palm, making him want to shiver. He heads back toward the elevator to let himself out. 

“Hold on, Pete,” Stark says. Peter turns back to him and watches Stark pull a suitcase out from under one of his work benches. He puts it on the desk and faces it toward Peter. “Open it.” 

Peter hesitates. This is the bad thing he’s been anticipating since he saw Stark flirting with May. It’s a bomb or a trap or--

He winces internally at his own loud, obnoxious thoughts and silences them for being completely and randomly unreasonable. 

He unlatches the case. It opens itself into a display of an almost familiar mask trailing off into a suit folded below it, a spider emblem on the chest. Peter can’t hold back the clear amazement from his face. “This is--What--Is this--” There are so many things he wants to say and no brain function to say it with. He gasps and finally gets his tongue under control. “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen! Is this for me?” 

“Of course it’s for you! Look,” Stark points to the eyes, “I saw what you were doing with your old mask, I mimicked your goggles and widened the peripheral vision.” He gesture to a hologram coming out of the side, a picture of a red glove and with a wristband. “I also managed to redesign your web blasters--”

“Web shooters,” Peter corrects him. 

“Whatever. The webbing concoction?”

“Web fluid.” 

“Stop interrupting me when I’m trying to compliment you. The web fluid is genius. You should get it patented. I recreated it and put refills around the waist,” Stark finally finishes. “Everything else is basically the same, functional wise.”

Peter runs his fingers over the fabric. “You finished this in one night? It’s amazing!” 

“We don’t sleep. It opens up a lot of free time.” 

Suddenly, Peter is pressing himself against the man, arms around him. He can feel the arc reactor press into his shoulder from beneath Stark’s clothes. “Thank you thank you thank you!” 

Stark gently pries Peter off of him. “We’re not there yet, kid.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “But I’m glad you like it. How’d you move so fast? I felt you before I noticed you’d moved.” 

Peter steps back from him and shrugs. “I-I don’t know. Spider thing?” 

Stark waved it off. “Well, your aunt is waiting for you. I could get you a car… or you could test swing this beauty.” 

“I am  _ dying _ to try it on, but I should take a car. For appearances. May caught me coming in through the fire escape this morning. I took off my suit, so I crawled into my room mostly naked while she was sitting on my bed,” he admitted. “That’s what she wants to talk about when I get home.” 

A cheeky smirk spreads over Stark's face. “I suppose that's my fault. Anything I can do about that?” he asks as he closes the suitcase. 

“Actually, this internship will impress her beyond grounding me.” 

“Will an advance in your first paycheck be more impressive?” 

Peter considers it, but he doesn't want to ask for so much before he's even done anything to deserve it. He knows money doesn't mean much to Stark, but it wouldn't make him feel any less guilty. “That might be overkill.” 

“If you say so, kid. FRIDAY, call Happy back to the front. He'll be taking Underoos here back to Queens.” 

“You got it, Boss,” the ceiling confirms. FRIDAY's voice startles Peter again. He just doesn't expect the room to talk to them. 

“Is she always listening to you. Can she see us?” He can't help asking. 

“She is programmed to record everything that happens in every room. FRIDAY is a security system, an assistant, and a good friend.” Stark explains. 

Just then, a woman walks into the lab from a different entrance than they came in. It takes a moment for Peter to recognize her, but her all business vibe is all telling. 

Ms. Potts walks without looking, her eyes planted in the open folder in her hands. “I need you to look over these legal files and sign them--” Her heels stop clicking as she finally looks up when nearing Stark's desk. “Oh, I didn't know you had company.” 

Stark lights up when she enters the room. He takes the folder from her and discards it onto his desk. “Yes, this is my newest recruit! He'll be helping me with my projects sometimes. Can you write up an NDA for him tomorrow?” 

“Peter Parker,” he introduces himself with his hand held out to her. “It's an honor to meet you. Both of you.” 

Ms. Potts hesitates. Peter sees it in her eyes and her tight smile. She's afraid of him… She already knows what he is. It's a look Peter was avoiding successfully outside of his hero time. 

And it hurts. 

It hurts more than it should for coming from someone he's never even met. 

She shakes his hand anyway. “Pleasure,” she lies. “Mr. Parker, could you excuse us?” 

Stark rolls his eyes. “Parker was just on his way out.” He takes the suitcase and hands it off to Peter. They walk back to the elevator. “Best not keep Happy waiting too long. He can be grumpy about it.” 

“See you tomorrow,” Peter says before the doors slide close. 

He can hear a fading “Are you insane?” yelled by Ms. Potts as the elevator descends to the first floor. 

 

***

 

When he exits Stark Tower, the sun has set and New York is lighting up, drowning out the stars with its own beauty. It makes Peter almost regret not swinging home. The best view of the city is from above at night. 

“You Parker?” a man asks him gruffly. The chauffeur leans against the same shiny, expensive car Peter rode in before. 

“You must be Happy,” Peter smiles at him, offering his hand. 

“You Parker?” he asks again, ignoring Peter's greeting. 

“Uh, yeah. It-it's Peter. You can call me Peter,” he says, dropping his hand awkwardly. 

“Rather not,” Happy mutters as he takes the case from him. He struggles with its weight as he walks toward the trunk. “Get in.” 

Peter let's himself into the back seat and waits as Happy lifts the case to drop it into the trunk, the whole car jostling with the movement. He watches the man get into the driver's seat and pull away from the sidewalk. 

“So you're one of them, huh.” It's not a question. Or at least Happy doesn't say it like a question. 

Peter isn't sure he should respond. “I'm not supposed to talk about it.” 

That earns him an amused snort. “Good. About time one of you knows that.” 

Peter doesn't know what he means so he doesn't say anything back. 

They ride silently for a while before Happy speaks again. 

“Did Tony tell you how you'll get your food supply?” 

It dawns on him that he completely forgot to even ask. He feels stupid for it. That's the most important prospect of this program. “No, he didn't.” 

Happy lets out an exasperated sigh. “When you get home, a week supply of blood will be waiting on your fire escape in a refrigerated storage safe. It’s small enough that it’s easy to hide under your bed or something. In seven days, you put it back out on the fire escape, and our drone, the Milkman, will leave new blood, got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. We're almost there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys, this story does not have a beta reader. I'm usually pretty good with grammar and spelling, but I'm catching myself going from present tense to past tense on accident a lot. Let me know if you see mistakes and I'll fix them. I know it can make it harder to read the fic. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

 

“So?” May asks expectantly as soon as Peter steps in the apartment. “Tell me everything!” The excitement in her voice is contagious as he remembers the events of the day.

Peter sets down the suitcase that holds his new Spider-Man gear. He smiles what must be the most sincere smile since Ben. He wraps his arms around her waist and picks her up, spinning her around.

“Whoa,” May says, surprised and shocked that Peter can lift her like she's nothing more than a doll.

Peter puts her back on her feet. “May, it's a paid internship! Mr. Stark wants to pay me to work in his workshop with him!”

“Peter that's amazing!” She bounces on her toes a couple times before going back in to hug him. “I'm so proud of you.”

He hugs her back. “I start tomorrow after school, and I know you were going to ground me, but if I do this, I can help out around here.”

May backs out of his embrace, looking at him with concern. She looks like she wants to argue with him, but she knows he's seen the notice letters on the counter. “It's unfair how much of an adult you are. And you're still grounded with the exception of your internship.”

Peter nod in understanding. “That's fair.” He picks up the suitcase and starts toward his room. “For how long?”

He watched her think about it, really considering it, and Peter thought for sure she was going to say until college. “Until you apologize to Ned,” she says, hands on her hips. Her face is smug, like she's challenging him.

It took him by surprise. They hadn't really talked about that night. Peter never wanted to. “I'll try again tonight.”

“Good,” she nods and goes to the kitchen where something experimental is definitely burning in the oven.

Peter makes it to his room and shuts the door behind him. He sets the suitcase down at the end of his bed and pulls out his phone. Ned is still the most called contact in his phone. He puts his phone to his ear, Ned's phone ringing on through the line. He counts the rings as he opens his window and pulls the waiting package inside.

The refrigerated storage unit is small. A lot smaller than he expected. It's like a metal mini cooler and he has no idea how this thing stays cold. He unlatches the lid to look inside. There are multiple pouches lined inside. Each one contains what looks to be one serving size of blood. Half of them are in clear, bags like the ones Stark had, and the other half of them are in unlabeled, silver pouches with little yellow straws taped to them. The look like Capri Sun pouches minus the picture on the front. Peter almost laughs at the ingenuousness of the idea alone. They're perfectly discreet for drinking at school.

The phone is wedged between his head and shoulder when Ned's voicemail recording starts playing in his ear. Peter has it memorized now. May doesn't know that he's been calling and leaving a message for Ned every night now since the night after Ben. The night after their fight…

Ned never returns the calls. He probably doesn't even listen to the voicemails, but as long as Peter's number isn't blocked, he'll keep trying.

“Hey, Ned. It's me again…” Peter lets out a shaking breath. He fingers through the pouches of blood, counting them in his head. “I know you're never going to forgive me no matter how many of these apology calls I make, but… Ned, something incredible happened today. I don't have anyone to talk to about it. I mean, I told May, but I can't tell her everything. I'd tell you now, but you wouldn't believe me. Finally, something good happened. It's going to fix everything.”

Another shaky breath. He closes the storage bin and latches the sides down again. “I really am sorry, man. I shouldn't have said those things. I swear I didn't even mean them--”

There was a beep on the line, cutting him off before the message was too long. Peter let the phone fall from his shoulder to the floor. It bounced off the carpet, almost bumping his toes. He shoves the storage unit under his bed and smiles to himself, just then noticing that his injured hand is completely healed. He tests it, clenching it into a fist and stretching out each finger with no pain.

Peter settles in to do his homework, a Netflix nature documentary on his phone for background noise. He waits for May to go to sleep.

 

***

 

The new Spider-Man suit is ridiculously intuitive and it helps _so much_.

He takes down a lowly weapons deal, stops an amateur dog fight, and even steps between two drunks and an unconscious woman.

“Hey, we saw her first, bug!” one of them tells down the alley.

Peter just crosses his arms and glares at them. They're twice his size, but he can see his reputation seems to be more intimidating to them. “And what were you planning to do with her?”

“Oh we were going to take real good care of her,” Mr. Talkative sneers. He moves to take a step closer, but Quiet Guy grabs his arm, holding him back.

“Well, good news, boys. You're off the hook. You can go home now,” Peter tells them, waving goodbye. Neither of the men move.

“We leave so you can sink your teeth in her?”

“Oh, and I leave so you can stick your dicks in her? The smart thing to do would be for you two to walk away.”

“She'd have a better time with us,” the man offers.

Peter rolls his eyes. “That's not for you to decide, asshole. And also, this isn't a bargaining situation.” He senses the danger before he sees it.

Mr. Talkative reaches for his waistband where a weapon is tucked. Peter webs his hand to his side before he can pull the gun out. He makes quick work of the rest of it, webbing them firmly to a wall.

“I warned you,” Peter shrugs.

“I'm gonna kill y--”

He webs the man's mouth shut. He looks to the other guy who hasn't put up a fight, doesn't even squirm in his binds. “I like you. You're quiet.”

“I wasn't going to let him do it,” he finally speaks. “But this is better. I'll tell the cops what happened when they get here.”

Peter nods in appreciation and turns away. He starts toward the woman lying on the pavement. She's dressed for a party in a shimmering dress and heels that could kill a man. Her hair is long and slightly tangled.

He crouches down next to her. “Miss? Miss are you okay?” He shakes her shoulder gently.

She groans and rolls over. Her face is indented from the pebbles she was resting on. Her makeup is smudged, but she still holds her beauty. “Spider-Mn?” she slurs. She holds her head as her whole face scrunches up in discomfort. “Must be rlly high.”

“Miss are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?” he asks.

She spots the two men against a building down the alley. Peter can see her face turn in realization. “Oh shit.”

“Can you walk?”

She nods.

Peter helps her to her feet. “Were you with anyone tonight?”

“My friend went home with some guy.”

They start walking, her legs shake and she puts more of her weight on Peter. “I can get you a cab,” he offers.

She nods. “Like the new outfit,” she compliments. “‘S hotter.” They exit the alley and walk toward a busier street. “Ya gonna bite me?”

Peter tries not to laugh at her mumbled and slurred speech. “No, I don't do that anymore. It would've been them, not you, anyway.”

She stops them and leans against a car that's parked along the road. She reaches for her shoes and unstraps them, stepping out of them. She pulls Peter's arm until he's pressed against her. “What'f I want ya to,” she whispers.

 _This is new_.

No one has ever offered themselves to him before. People have flirted with him on the job, but nobody has ever asked him to bite them. _And he considers it_.

He remembers how good it feels to drink warm and live, a body thrashing against him. The women's body gently rolling against him brings him out of his thoughts.

Before he can react, she's kissing him where she thinks his mouth is, trying to french his chin through the mask. His body is responding against his better wishes.

Peter gently pulls himself away from her. “You're very tempting,” he tells her, holding her at arm's length.

She spots the bulge where his dick is straining against the suit. “I can see that,” she giggles.

Peter clears his throat awkwardly, bringing her eyes back to his mask. “But you're also drunk. I don't want to do anything you might regret later.” That's just one reason. There are a lot of reasons he will not and cannot accept her advances.

She puts her face in her hands. “You're right. ‘M sorry.” She picks up her shoes and leans on him to walk again.

There's an empty cab already sitting at the corner of the street when they get there. Peter opens the door for her. She kisses his cheek as he lowers her into the cab.

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” she says.

“Stay safe, Miss.” He closes the door and taps the roof of the yellow car twice.

After it drives off, Peter shoots a web and launches himself to a rooftop. His suit calls the police for him as he lies on his back, facing a black night sky. If he looks really hard, he can spot a few stars burning through the light pollution of the city.

He almost wishes he hadn't walked away from such a willing participant. Almost. It wracks his brain like a missed opportunity. Peter had only thought drinking from people was something he did to survive. It worries him that it could've been just an excuse. He wasn't even hungry, but he still wanted it. He almost took it.

Peter lifts his head a few inches and lets it fall back down.

“Fuck.”

 

***

 

He's back in bed before May even notices he was gone. He pretends to be asleep when she comes in to wake him up.

“Hey, it's time for school.” She shakes his shoulder. “Get up and get ready.”

He groans like he's tired and rolls away from her. “Give me a minute…” he mumbles. He's gotten better at this. May closes the door behind her as she leaves.

Peter hops out of bed and drags the cooler out from under it. He takes out one clear bag and one juice pouch and puts it back in its hidden nook. He takes his breakfast to the bathroom, hiding it in between his clean clothes for today. He drinks it in the shower, relishing in the fact that he won't go hungry and feel like shit today.

He almost puts the empty bag of blood in the bathroom trash bin before he reconsiders. May could find it. While she might not assume it to be what it is, it would still raise questions.

He keeps it until he's dressed and back in his room. It can only go back in the cooler again. That's the only place it's guaranteed it won't be found by May, so he puts it there. Having the blood out, looking at it, he remembers that he won't be coming home right away. He takes out another clear bag for an afterschool snack.

May is making his lunch up when comes out of his room. “Are you sure you don't want more than one sandwich? I could cut up some fruit or something,” she offers.

Peter shakes his head. “No, it's fine. I don't eat much.”

As much as he hates his situation, Peter thinks he can at least be grateful that it isn't costing May more than what she would usually buy when getting groceries. With money tight, at least he doesn't need to raid the pantry for sustenance anymore.

She hands him his usual insulated lunch carrier and he moves toward the door. “Oops, I forgot something.” He goes back to his room and puts the juice pouch and clear bag of blood in with his lunch.

He thinks he might actually enjoy a day at school now.

 

***

 

Peter is very wrong about that.

School is the same. It's too loud, too bright, too smelly. His constant sensory overload is twice as bad in a setting like this. The only thing that's changed is the gnawing hunger that used to distract him.

“Penis Parker!” Flash shouts from down the hall.

Peter ignores how much he'd like to sink his teeth into Flash and moves on to his next class.

By the time lunch rolls around, Peter is a little hungry but it's like it was before everything changed. The feeling doesn't hold a candle to how bad it has been.

He sits across from Michelle, secluded to themselves.

“You have got to quit sitting here,” she says without looking up from the book she's reading. It's the first time she's spoken to him since he'd been kicked off of the decathlon team for tardiness.

Peter settles in anyway, taking his lunch out and setting it in front of him. “Where else would I sit?”

Finally she looks up at him. “Literally anywhere else. You used to sit with Ned, go back to that,” she comments bluntly.

Peter's eyes find Ned. He's been sitting next to Betty lately. He watches them chat and laugh and snatch each others food. He sighs. “Ned's better off without me.”

Michelle huffs. “You're right about that.”

Peter feels a flare of anger at her insensitivity. He glares daggers at her, but she meets his gaze unaffected and unflinching.

“What? It's true. His social status has only gone up since you two broke up. Flash has mostly stopped picking on him and he and Betty are pining for each other.” She shrugs her shoulders lazily, her oversized button-up sliding down them. “It's a simple fact. He's doing much better without you.”

Peter's anger turns to hurt and sadness. He almost wishes it weren't true… but maybe it's for the best. If he was somehow holding Ned back from an enjoyable high school experience then maybe this is better.

He slumps in his seat and eats his sandwich, tasting none of it. Michelle turns back to her book. She sends his juice pouch a curious side eye at one point, but she doesn't comment on it.

Classes wiz by after lunch period. Peter can't help but linger on the thoughts that agonize his mind.

If Ned really is better off without him, maybe he shouldn't be trying to get his friendship back. Ned seems happy enough without Peter by his side. Would it be so bad to let it go? Is it so bad that Ned doesn't forgive him?

He spots Ned after school in the courtyard. His former best friend is sitting with the decathlon group. Michelle sees him staring and gives a half hearted wave with a mournful expression.

Peter sees the gesture for what it is; an apology. An apology mixed with sympathy.

He waves back tentatively.

For a moment, they're just looking at each other from across the school grounds.

Suddenly she closes the book that was open in her lap. She says something to Betty and Liz before getting up and gathering her things. Both girls look in bewilderment as Michelle starts walking toward him.

Peter has the same expression when he sees Michelle coming toward him. “What are you doing?” he asks when she's near enough to him.

“I'm making you an offer, Pete.” There's a spark in her eyes he doesn't recognize. She doesn't wait for him to respond. “You and I are the last two people in this school without any real friends, right?”

Peter shrugs. “I mean, yeah, I guess. What--”

“We could just be friends,” she blurts out. “Maybe not as close as you and Ned, but I can build Star Wars Legos and study with you.”

He takes a moment to process. “You want to build Legos?” he laughs.

She blushes, shaking her head. “You're right. It's stupid.” She turns to leave.

“Wait. Wait,” he says. She stops and faces him again. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. You just don't seem like the type, you know?”

“That's because I'm not.”

“Well, I'm not going to make you do something you don't want to do.” Peter thinks a moment. “We can find something we both want to do.”

Peter's phone comes to life in his pocket. Someone is calling him. He pulls it out to check the screen. It's an unknown caller, but he's pretty sure he knows who it is.

“I have to go, but I'll text you later, okay?” he asks Michelle.

She nods. “Okay.” There's a small smile on her lips as he walks away.

“Hello?” he answers his phone.

“How long are you going to keep me waiting?” a familiar voice demands.

“Happy?”

“Who else?”

“Where are you?”

“Three o'clock.”

Peter looks up and turns to the student pickup area. A black car with dark tinted windows is idling by the sidewalk. He hangs up his phone and rushes to the car, getting in the back seat.

Happy looks at him through the rearview mirror. “What took you so long, kid?”

“Sorry. I didn't realize Mr. Stark would send a car.”

“How else would you get to your work?”

Peter was planning on swinging over in his new suit. Swinging is much faster than traffic and more thrilling than sitting in the back of a car.

He would have said as much to Happy, except he's not entirely sure how much Happy knows or how involved the man is, but he doesn't think the guy knows about Spider-Man.

“I don't know. Public transit?” Peter fake guesses with a shrug.

Happy rolls his eyes as they pull away.

Peter takes out his afterschool snack and drinks it dry before they get to Stark Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. Got busy around Easter and then Endgame was happening. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

 

When FRIDAY lets Peter off the elevator at the lab, he's surprised to see Stark leaning over a workbench, the bright light of a welding torch in front of him. The man is wearing only a grease stained wife beater and jeans, his shoulders shiny with sweat and rippling with muscle that is usually hidden under fancier clothes. 

Peter tries to ignore twinge in his stomach at this particular sight. He sets his things down against a wall near the elevator as Stark finishes his task and extinguishes his torch. The man takes off his goggles and gloves, finally noticing him. “There you are!” 

“Uh, here I am,” he says awkwardly. 

“Roll up your sleeves and tuck your shirt in. I don't need you getting yourself snagged by something on your first day.” 

Peter follows his order without question. He will be damned if lab safety is what gets in the way of him and this very amazing opportunity. “So what are we working on?” he asks as he tucks in the last little bit of his shirt. 

“That's up to you, kid. Is there anything you ever had an idea for? Something you maybe wanted to make or play around with, but you never had the right resources?” Stark ponders. He seems almost more excited than Peter to be doing this. 

Peter grins at the possibilities… but nothing particular comes to mind. He's had ideas, he knows he has, but under the gaze of the great Tony Stark, Peter's mind fails him. “I'm drawing a blank at the moment. Can I just help you with your project for now?” He gesture to the workbench Stark was just sweating over. 

“Whatever you want.” 

Stark's tone makes him shiver. Peter knows it's just in his head and that Stark doesn't mean anything by the simple phrase. But he can dream, right? 

“How was patrol last night?” Stark asks as he guides Peter to his area, his arm around Peter's shoulders. The smell of hot metal and grease stick strongly to the man, and not in an unpleasant way. 

“It was awesome! The suit is perfect, Mr. Stark. It's so much more than perfect,” he gushes. “Some woman tried to kiss me through the mask,” he chuckles, blushing at the memory. 

“Oh, I've had that before,” Stark huffs in amusement. “Everyone loves a hero.” 

“Actually, it was kind of weird.” Peter is still deciding if it's a good idea to tell Stak the whole truth, but when he looks up at him to see only concern in his eyes, he knows he has to. “I have a reputation on the streets, you know? A lot of people have heard the stories or read them somewhere. This girl wanted me to bite her. Like she thought it was some kind of fun, sexy thing.”

 

“Was she drunk?” 

“Well yeah, but that's not the point.” Peter shifts on his feet nervously. “She offered herself to me… and I wanted to do it.” 

Stark just stares at him, features unmoving and untelling. 

“I mean, I didn't. I would never, now that I don't need to,” he rushes to say. He shifts his gaze down in embarrassment. “It's like I'm suddenly on a diet and she's a potato chip.” 

Sudden, bursting laughter startles Peter enough to have his head snapping back up. Stark is letting out full belly laughs between gasping breaths. It feels like minutes before he finally starts calming down again. “A potato chip? Really?” he gasps out. 

Peter is offended and doesn't even try to hide it. “It's not funny,” he whines. “I could have hurt her. Spider-Man does not hurt victims.” He can hear the fear in his own voice. 

Stark sobers up, but his eyes still hold a spark joyful amusement. “Peter, are you listening to yourself? You didn't hurt her. Even though you were tempted, you declined. You'll always decline because you feel guilty just for entertaining the  _ thought _ of it.” 

He knows all of this already, but Peter's brain has a nasty habit of making a bigger, badder deal out of the stupidest little things. It's much more reassuring coming from outside his conscience. It's twice more reassuring coming from one of Earth's greatest hero. 

“How did you feel after you stopped feeding from people?” Peter asks boldly, an apologetic glint in his features. 

“I never drank live, kid.” 

“But I thought… Yinsen?” He hesitates to bring it up. It was obvious that those weren't good memories for Stark. Peter didn't mean to bring them up like this. 

Stark sighs. He's looking off into space without focusing on anything. “Yinsen always bled into a bowl. We were both worried about my self control and proper rationing. It was fresh, but not live.” 

Peter mentally slaps himself. “I'm an idiot. Why didn't I ever think of that?” 

“You were too busy thinking about not starving. Understandably so.” 

Peter rubs a hand over his forehead. He still feels like he should be worried about his own tamped down desires. 

“You're not the only one who's been through this. Lots of us have a hard time adjusting to bagged blood. Most of the people I take in have been doing what you're doing. Some have done worse.” Stark steps closer to Peter. He puts a hand on Peter's chest. “That little part of you that craves the gore and violence is only part of what we are. It's animalistic instinct. Instinct that we can ignore.” 

Peter has to crane his neck to look up at Stark, they're so close. Stark's hand is warm, a comfortable weight pressing against him. 

Stark's tone becomes softer. “You're still young. You're still new. All of this will get easier with time.” His hand drops. 

Peter isn't sure he believes that. It's the same bullshit they feed him at school.  _ Give it time _ .  _ Things get better when you're older _ . 

But how much time? How long does he have to wait to feel comfortable in his own skin? 

Stark puts him to work looking over blueprints and equations. He understands physics well enough to keep up with the genius, but Stark's work is flawless. He didn't even need a proofreader. 

***

It's nearly time Stark dismisses Peter when Miss Potts comes in carrying more folders. 

“I brought the documents you requested,” she says, handing the stack to Stark. “One non disclosure, one employment contract, and one legal guardian waiver.” 

She doesn't even look at Peter. 

“Is the pay rate one in here too?” Stark asks. 

“I included it in with the employment contract.” 

Peter glances up at them, catching Miss Potts’ eyes before quickly glancing away. 

She leans in close to Stark and whispers, “Are you sure about this, Tony? He's much younger than any of your other… recruits.” 

“All the more reason, Pep. He can hear you, by the way.” 

Peter tries glancing up again. She's still staring at him. He lifts his hand for a halfhearted wave. She doesn't react. 

Stark takes the file folders from her and thanks her. She leaves as briskly as she came, the clicking of her heels fading. 

Stark is flipping through the documents, skimming over them. “Don't mind her. It's not personal, but she's skittish around newbies. We've had a couple bad eggs come through here,” he says without looking up. “She was attacked.” 

Peter was not expecting that at all. “Oh,” he says numbly. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Just give her time. She will warm up to your doe eyes once she sees your shining morale.” 

Heat creeps up Peter's neck. He clears his throat. “Are-are those for me?” 

“Yeah, they are. I need you to sign the NDA right now and the other two you should bring home and look over with your aunt.” He drops them on the desk Peter is sitting at. “She has to sign them too, since you're still a minor.” 

Peter flips through the pages. There's a lot of them. More than he expected. He skims the NDA, his eyes landing on the signature line. “Do you have a pen?” 

He has to crane his neck up to look at Stark. The man always seems to be standing so close. 

Stark gives him an amused smile and reaches toward him. Peter is suddenly hyper aware of the fact that Tony Stark's hand brushes his cheek and pushes a loose strand of his hair back. 

Peter feels it in slow motion, the pads of Stark's fingers have calluses, but the touch could not have felt softer. A tiny gasp escapes him without his permission. He feels his heart flip in an almost painful way. 

_ Oh, wow _ . A shiver crawls down his spine. 

It's too soon when Stark retracts, the feeling of something dragging from behind his ear. Then that hand is in front of his face, holding a pen. 

If Peter's face was red before, he must look like a tomato now. It was a pen Peter had stuck behind his ear and forgotten about. 

“No, but you do,” Stark says, laughing softly. 

Peter feigns chuckling and takes the pen, too embarrassed to laugh at himself yet. What he thought was an almost intimate gesture, was just Stark plucking the pen from behind his ear. He feels stupid for even thinking Stark would like him like that at all. 

He signs the NDA and gives it back to the older man. 

Stark takes it, absently tapping his fingers against the manilla folder. “Well, I think you've done enough for today. Take a few days to look those over. I'll be out of town until Sunday, so you're off the hook until then.” 

And so he goes home. He thanks Happy for driving him as he gets out of the car. 

It's dark out now. May won't be home until late, but he can't go out as Spider-Man until she pokes her head in his room to check on him. He needs to do homework anyway. 

When Peter gets inside, he turns on the hallway light and goes straight to his room. He drops his book bag by his desk and falls to his knees by his bed. He reaches for the cooler, retrieving his last serving for the day. 

Peter can't help wincing at the taste. Well, not so much the taste as the texture. It's colder and thicker and blander than what he's used to. If he thinks about it too hard, he feels like he'll gag and it takes actual effort to not think about it. 

_ Suck it up _ .  _ It's better than starving _ .

He wonders what would happen if he put oregano and garlic in it. Would it become a tasty vampire soup, or a deadly vampire poison? 

His thoughts are interrupted by his phone. Michelle's name comes up with a text alert. He almost forgot he said he'd text her. 

It just says,  _ Liar _ . 

He holds the bag by the straw with his teeth, continuing to drink from it as he types a reply. 

_ I'm so sorry, Michelle. I got caught up with my internship. I just got home.  _

That's a good enough excuse, right? It  _ is _ the truth, after all. 

She texts back just as quickly,  _ Whatever. Don't ever ghost me again.  _

_ And my friends call me MJ, btw _

Peter makes a mental note of that and takes the time to change that to her contact in his phone. 

_ My apologies. How can I make it up to you? _

He has to wait longer for a reply this time. There's a noise coming from outside his window. He's sure it's just the neighbors smoking on the fire escape again. 

His phone vibrates. 

_ You can let me in _

Then there's a sharp tapping on the glass of his window that makes him sputter mid-sip. The bag drops in his lap, blood seeping out at the same time as he's coughing, it's coming out his nose and mouth.  _ Shit shit shit! _

He looks out his window, and sure enough he can see her silhouette. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Did you like it? Dislike it, maybe? 
> 
> I promise the sexy times are coming. Be patient, young padawans.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Then there's a sharp tapping on the glass of his window that makes him sputter mid-sip. The bag drops in his lap, blood seeping out at the same time as he's coughing, it's coming out his nose and mouth.  _ Shit shit shit! _

He looks out his window, and sure enough he can see her silhouette. 

Peter acts in panic and shoves the bag into the trash bin under his desk. He rips off his shirt and pants, tearing them in some spots. He uses his shirt to wipe his face and balls it up with his pants, throwing them over the bin. 

There's more tapping at his window. It's more insistent this time. Maybe even a little demanding. 

He grabs a pair of sweatpants from his pile of dirty laundry. “Just a second!” he calls out. He nearly trips and falls over as he hops into the pant legs and tries to move toward his window at the same time. He manages to get them around his waist without tearing them, but he's pretty sure they're inside out. 

Peter throws the window open, probably a little too hard, he thinks as it rattles in its frame.  

Michelle is there, looking at him surprised. “Hey,” she says quietly. 

Peter is breathing heavily. “Uh, h-hey. What, er-why…” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “What are you doing here?” he asks, trying not to sound manic. 

She ignores the question and takes in his current stature. “Are you okay?” 

“Um, yeah, I was just doing homework,” he says too quickly. 

“Uh… in the dark?” She squints at him in suspicion. 

Peter almost forgot he never turned the light on in his room. He hardly needs it anymore. His eyes are more than capable these days. “Right,” he says as he retreats to flip on a lamp. 

Michelle--no. MJ lets herself in and closes the window behind her. 

When he turns back to her, she is still, her eyes roving over him. “Wow,” she whispers, hardly audible even to him. Peter crosses his arms, self consciously over his bare chest and avoids eye contact. Peter always thought his muscles looked a little weird with his thin build. It's like he just hasn't grown into them yet and they're just kind of there. 

Most fifteen year olds don't have abs at all. 

He clears his throat. “What are you doing here?” he asks again. 

She comes back to herself and glances off to his shelf. “Just… I'm seeking out a friend while I avoid my parents.” 

Peter looks up at that. “Is everything okay? Did you…” 

“I didn't run away. I'm just waiting out their anger. I was hoping I could do it here?” She swings her backpack off her shoulders and sets it on the floor. “Just until I finish my assignments?” 

Peter worries about May coming home early. He knows it's highly unlikely, and this is MJ. She'll do her homework faster than he will. 

“Yeah, sure. Just until we finish our assignments,” he says. 

“Could you… maybe put a shirt on?” she asks quietly. 

Peter's face feels hot all the sudden. “Right.” He picks up the nearest shirt and puts it on. 

MJ is sitting on the floor now, her back leaning against his bed. She seems much more relaxed. “You know you're pants are inside out, right?” she teases. 

“It's a conscious choice,” he shrugs. It's a lie, but he's not about to try and fix them in front of her. 

He grabs his backpack and drags it over so he can sit next to her. “So why are your parents mad at you?” he asks as he gathers the books he needs. 

MJ hesitates. “I told them I quit Decathlon.” 

Peter can't hide the shock on his face. “You quit? Why?” 

“I didn't do it for you,” she clarifies swiftly. “There's just a lot of drama in there right now.” She looks him in the eye. “I'd rather not be a part of it.” 

He wants to pry more, but her expression tells him that she doesn't really want to talk about it. “That makes sense,” he tells her. 

They leave it at that. 

Soon there are textbooks strewn across the floor. For homework, Peter learns that MJ sticks her pencil in her fluffy ponytail when she's not using it. He also learns that she taps her fingers when doing math equations. She asks Peter to check her work on chemistry even though she gets them all right. 

Peter gets up once to get some snacks. She doesn't ask him to, but in the quiet of his room, he could hear her stomach growling. MJ chooses chocolate covered pretzels over Doritos for brain food. “Thanks,” she says quietly. 

They have a companionable silence between them that Peter thinks should probably feel awkward, but it doesn't. In fact, it's almost comfortable. 

MJ's knee rests against his as she moves on to English. It's a warm, innocent touch that keeps him focused on her. If he listens very closely, he can hear her heart beat steadily. 

“Can I ask you something?” she asks suddenly. She turns her head to look at him. 

He peers up at her from where he's slouched over his work. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Why aren't you and Ned talking right now? What happened between you guys?” 

Peter is surprised she doesn't already know. He straightens and leans back against the side of his bed. Their shoulders are pressed together. “He didn't tell you?” 

MJ closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Peter, he didn't tell anyone. He won't even tell Betty. Everyone thinks it must be pretty bad, though. They talk shit about you.” 

Peter nods. “Yeah, I probably deserve it.” 

She opens her eyes again and meets his gaze. “Was it really that bad?” MJ sounds incredulous. 

“God, MJ, I screamed in his face.” He remembers the shocked and scared look in Ned's eyes. The hurt of Peter's words echoed all over his face. Just thinking about it makes Peter's eyes water. “I was having a breakdown and Ned was just trying to help,” he continues. “I was just so mad that my aunt and uncle called him. I wanted to be left alone.” He suddenly feels like he can't look her in the eyes so he lets his gaze flit at the wall, his desk, the floor; anywhere but her. “And I snapped. The things I said were… You don't say that to someone you care about.” He sniffles and tries to blink unshed tears away. He doesn't want to cry in front of MJ.

She doesn't say anything. Peter doesn't look up to see her reaction. 

“And I think you were right earlier," he adds. His voice breaks. Peter has to cough to clear his throat. “He really is better off without me. If I'm the reason he was being singled out before, then maybe I should just stop asking for forgiveness. Maybe this is for the best. He deserves friends who won't hurt him like I did.” 

Peter feels MJ put her arms around him. It's an awkward attempt at comfort on her part, but he takes it for what it's meant to be. It doesn't ease his guilt, but it does make him feel less alone. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. 

She retracts and moves her focus back to her homework. 

Peter watches her for a moment longer. He can't help the little smile that sprouts on his face. He likes her. He likes this. Her actions-over-words attitude is a refreshing change. 

When she leaves, she insists on going out the way she came in. “I'll be fine. I got here in the dark, and I can get home in the dark,” she says as she crawls back out onto the fire escape. There's an annoyed trill in her voice. 

“I know, I know, but…” 

She turns back to him, her face in the window. “But what, Peter?” 

Peter kneels down so they're both at eye level. “It's just… we don't exactly live in the safest parts of the city.” 

“Relax, I'm going to grab a cab. I think I can manage not to get targeted from here to the road.” 

“That's the problem, though. That isn't really up to you,” he says grimly. 

MJ sighs and shakes her head. “I'm not letting you walk me.” 

“Fine. Just… stay safe?” He gives her his best pouty face. Stark had called it his doe eyes. May calls them that, too. 

He can see the moment she gives in. Her face softens as she takes out her phone, taps on it, and puts it to her ear. 

Peter's phone rings from its spot on the floor. He reaches over and sees MJ's caller ID. He looks back at her questioningly before answering it. “Why?” he says into it. 

“You can be on the phone with me until I get home. Will that make you feel better?” 

He feels himself brighten up at that. “Yeah, actually. It does.” 

Then she starts moving down the fire escape, her phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder. “If I drop my phone, I'm making you pay for damages,” she says into it. 

Peter huffs out a short laugh in response. 

He watches her through his window as she nears the ground. She does a little jump down from the bottom of the fire escape. “And she sticks the landing,” he says, mimicking a sports announcer. 

“And the crowd goes wild!” she says back. 

Peter tries imitating cheers from a stadium, but his voice cracks and they both laugh. 

MJ is turning the corner out of the alley, out of sight, when he finally pulls his head inside. He puts the phone on speaker so he can change. 

He hears her hail a cab with a sharp whistle. 

He pulls his clothes off and gets his suit from the closet, pulling it on hastily. He hesitates when he checks the time. May will be home soon, but he's sure he has time to do this.

Peter hits the emblem on his chest and pulls his mask over his head. The phone call automatically transfers to the suit when he puts his phone under the suit's utility belt. 

He launches himself out the window and swings out to the street. 

“I'm getting in a cab now,” MJ says in his ear just as he spots her. She gives the driver her address while closing the door. 

“What does the driver look like?” Peter asks. 

He can hear the frown in her voice. “What? Why does that matter?” 

He holds onto the side of a building until the little yellow car starts moving. He swings after it. “Because some drivers like to… take advantage of their customers.” Peter can't think of a better way to word it. 

“Yeah, I'm not telling you. Are you always this paranoid?” 

“No,” he says too quickly. And way too defensively. “I'm the perfect amount of paranoid all the time.” 

“Peter, I'm a woman of color in New York City. I'm always hyper aware of those kinds of things.” 

That thought makes him sympathetic. He hesitates to reply. “It shouldn't be like that.” 

“And you shouldn't have to worry about my safety. And people shouldn't have to sleep on the streets or die of hunger. And the world shouldn't be burning.” He hears her sigh. “Sorry. I've been told I'm too cynical.” 

“But you're right,” he assures her. He's still following her cab and they're almost to her home. “Those are all things that are happening and they really shouldn't be.” 

“Yeah, but when I say things like that, people usually tell me I'm annoying.” 

“The best way to make people listen is by annoying them,” Peter claps back. 

MJ huffs in an amused way. He can hear her smile through the phone. “I'll remember that next time I'm calling a politician.” 

“Is that something you actually do?” 

“You don't?” 

“Meh, I'm a little busy these days,” he shrugs off. 

“Excuses, excuses, Parker,” she says. Her tone is disappointed. 

The car slows and pulls up to her building. “I'm home now. And look! I made it without so much as an inappropriate comment from anyone.” 

Peter smiles as he lands on the rooftop of a nearby church, perching on a ledge. “Okay, you were right. I worry needlessly. Thank you, though. For humoring me.” He watches her exit the vehicle and go into the apartment building. 

“You need to know that I'm definitely not doing this every single time we hang out,” she warns. 

“I don't expect you to.” 

He hears her sigh. “I have to go. My parents are probably waiting to jump me the moment I walk in.” 

“Okay. I'll see you at school. Good luck.” 

“Bye, Peter,” she says quietly. The line cuts off. 

He stares at the building for a little bit longer before leaping off of his perch and swinging back home. 

He just barely makes it into the window when he hears the front door close. Peter darts to his bed as he rips the mask off and dives under his comforter. May is stepping down the hallway toward his room. He only just has enough time to pull the covers over him to hide the suit. 

May knocks and opens the door before waiting for a reply. “Hey, I brought Thai home, if you're up for it,” she says. 

Peter nods. “Okay, I'll be out in a minute.” 

She turns to leave and stops suddenly, turning her head back to her nephew. "Are you feeling okay?" 

"What-- Yeah. I'm fine. I'm good," Peter spits out nervously, cursing himself mentally.  _ Not subtle _ .

May narrows her eyes in suspicion. Peter's heart beats in his throat like a throbbing knot that he can't swallow. Then her eyes go wide and despite logically knowing there's no way she could have figured it out, his mind is screaming  _ SHE KNOW SHE KNOWS SHE KNOWS _ . 

Then May is babbling, "Oh, my God… Oh shit, Peter. Were you…? Did I walk interrupt--" She cuts herself off and makes a vulgar gesture that makes Peter's face hot with embarrassment. 

He almost denies it on instinct. He catches himself, choking on the words already bubbling out of his mouth. Better she think that than anything else for the reason that he's covering his entire body with his comforter. "N--er. Um… Yeah, I… was…" he trails off awkwardly. "I'm naked." He adds dumbly. 

"Jesus, I'm sorry. I should've knocked," May says as she closes the door. 

Peter breathes a sigh of relief when he's alone again. He covers his face with both hands and mutters "Jesus Christ" into them.  _ Jesus fucking Christ _ , that moment is going to be the thing that his brain will randomly relay to him while he's in the shower for years to come. He's sure of it. 

He gets up and hits the emblem on the suit, letting it fall to the floor at his feet and kicking it under his bed. He puts his pajamas on and gives himself a few minutes to brace for the very awkward meal they're about to have. 

He takes the contracts that Stark gave him and brings them out to the table with him. May is already seated and eating from a takeout box with chopsticks. She doesn't look up when he comes out. She does look up when he sets the stack of paper down. 

May clears her throat and focuses on eating again. "Before I ask what that is, should we talk about what just happened?" she asks softly. 

"I'd rather not."

"It's perfectly natural--" 

"Oh my God, please no." 

"You're at a time in your life--" 

"We really, really don't have to talk about it." 

"--hormones are flowing--" 

"Christ!" Peter covers his face with his hands. 

"--and if you need someone to talk to about it, I'm here." 

Peter uncovers his face and tells her, "May, I promise that Ben beat you to this 'talk' and it was just as awkward the first time, so can we please not talk about it." 

May raises her chopsticks defensively. "I know he did." She pauses and says, "But if you ever need a women's perspective…" 

Peter picks up the other box on the table and grabs his own pair of chopsticks. "That is the furthest thing on my mind right now." 

"Okay fine." Her tone is teasing. A small smirk grows on her face. "So what's all that?" she asks, gesturing to the papers. 

"These are my employee contracts. Mr. Stark wants us to go over them together before we sign them," he explains. "We have until Sunday." 

She frowns as she reaches over and let's the corners of the pages flip under her thumb. "That's a pretty thick contract, Peter." 

Peter just shrugs. 

"Should I call a lawyer for this?" 

Peter scoffs. "I don't think you have to be  _ that _ dramatic." 

"Well, how much do you trust this guy?" 

Peter considers it. As much as he likes and appreciates everything Stark is doing for him, the man is still a multi-billionaire in a capitalist country. He doesn't know enough about him to definitively say he wouldn't fall under the same category as most of the other one percenters. Peter is well aware of how easily he could be screwed over. "Okay, it wouldn't hurt to have it looked at, but can we afford that?" 

"Oh, I've got connections beyond money," she says, waggling her eyebrows comically. 

Peter can't help but smile. "Let me guess, you had a lawyer for a patient, he hit on you, and he gave you his card." 

"Actually  _ she _ hit on me and gave me her card. Plus I kind of saved her life, so I'm positive we can get this done pro bono." May shrugs like it's nothing. Like flirting her way through obstacles is nothing. Not that she's ever really done it on purpose. Lots of people find May attractive and they just bend over and give her things. 

"Okay, yeah. Let's do it." 

They eat the rest of their meal discussing how their day has been. A conversation Peter forgets by the time he returns to his room and waits for May to got to bed. 

 

***

 

Patrolling is uneventful. The usual burglaries with the occasional drug deal are interrupted by Spider-Man, but everything is mostly quiet. 

In the morning, Peter goes to school with absolutely nothing interesting happening. He packs his two pouches of blood and one sandwich. May sends him off the usual way. 

When he gets to school, he falls into routine without much thought. He used to love coming to school. Being somewhere where he could bend his brain and learn something new and hang out with Ned. He remembers liking school, but now he just wishes he could be swinging through the streets as Spider-Man, catching bad guys all the time. 

His mood lightens a little at lunch when he sees MJ. She's standing in line, getting her food. Liz, Betty, and Flash all stand around her. They seem upset, but she hardly even looks up at them. Peter presumes his normal seat and waits for MJ. 

Peter's seat faces the opposite direction, but he's had practice with his senses. He can't tune everything out, but he's learned how to focus on some things more than others. He can do it with his sight too, but that usually only comes in handy when he has to track someone or something as a vigilante. 

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He listens fully to everything around him, searching through each voice like picking through files in a filing cabinet. At first it's all so loud that he winces in pain, but once he starts picking out individual noises, it becomes bearable again. 

Then he hears Flash's voice. A hushed, frustrated thing that hisses words. "You can't just do this! We're so close to nationals--" 

Betty's voice. "It isn't fair for you to abandon us like this. You're the only one on the team with extensive knowledge on literature." 

"Is this about Peter?" Liz asks. Her voice is much calmer than the others. Maybe she's not as mad about it. 

"This is about me," MJ tells them sternly. "I don't owe you any explanations. You should start looking for a replacement team member." 

Peter jumps out of his trance as someone pokes his shoulder. He stands abruptly and places a hand over his chest. 

Ned is there, looking just as startled as he is. "Are you okay?" 

For a moment, Peter doesn't know what to think. This is the first time Ned has even so much as looked at him since his life turned to shit. There are so many things he needs to say, but the words die in his throat. He's almost positive Ned is just acting as a concerned classmate at Peter's odd behavior. And he's not the first one to catch Peter tuning in on someone else's conversation. 

"Oh, uh, yeah. I was just meditating," Peter tells him. He wonders if Ned can tell that he's lying. There's a moment's pause before Ned is turning away. 

"Wait!" Peter pleads. "Are-are you okay?" 

The question runs deeper coming from him.  _ Are you okay _ ?  _ Are you better _ ?  _ Can you forgive me _ ?  _ Do you miss me like I miss you _ ?

Ned looks back toward his table where Betty is just now joining. He's smiling now. "Yeah, I'm good," he says. He walks away without even glancing back at Peter. 

MJ sets her tray down on the table across from him and pulls out a different book than she had yesterday from under her arm, setting that down too. She meets his eyes and they sit down at the same time. "Today's a good day for weird conversations," she comments, half under her breath. 

Peter sighs. "What was yours'?" 

"Oh, you know, just everyone on decathlon begging me to come back because they know they can't win without me." There's a tiny, pleased smirk on her face. 

Peter takes his sandwich and juice pouch out of his lunch cooler and places them in front of him. "They're right. They don't stand a chance without you," he tells her. 

She feigns swooning. "Stop, please. My ego can't take it." 

They laugh. They laugh a little too loud because Peter can feel other students' eyes on them. 

They eat in comfortable silence. MJ puts her head in her book and Peter challenges himself to read it upside down and keep pace with her. He only gets halfway down the first page before she's turning to the next. 

The bell rings. Classes resume. 

 

***

 

Peter senses it when he's gathering his things at the end of the day. He's just opening his locker when his skin prickles and goose bumps raise all over. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end, the tell tale sign of his body warning him of danger. 

He chooses not to react. Almost nothing imminent happens at school. A lot of times his spidey sense is just warning him of projectile objects like spitballs and basketballs. Both have been thrown at him by Flash. And both incidences, he overreacted to. 

Sometimes Peter has to just let it happen for the sake of keeping a low profile. 

Sure enough, Flash takes his arm, squeezing hard and harsh, and roughly pulls that arm so that Peter has no choice but to turn and face him. Flash is visibly angry. His nostrils are flaring and his teeth are gnashing. 

"You have no right to take Michelle from the team just because your pissed about being kicked off!" Flash yells. Most everyone in the hall stop to observe the sudden commotion. 

Peter yanks his arm out of Flash's grip. "I didn't take her from anything," he says, his own temper being poked. He's annoyed that he isn't going to get to quietly sneak into the bathroom to quickly drink his second bag of blood. Instead he'll be dodging Flash's accusations and other people's stares. 

He tries to grab his things anyway, hoping this altercation will be harmless and swift. 

But like seemingly everything these days, Peter's hopes are dashed by someone else's actions. 

Peter only has enough time to retrieve his lunch bag before Flash turns him again, this time throwing him against the neighboring lockers with as much strength as his bully could muster.  _ Which isn't much _ . But for the sake of secret identities, Peter lets Flash have this. 

Flash swings a fist at Peter's stomach, full speed and intent to harm. This is not something Peter was expecting. Not by a long shot. 

Flash gets angry. It happens a lot around Peter. At Peter. 

But Flash has never been  _ violent _ . 

The blow feels like nothing. Flash's fist moves right where Peter is holding his lunch cooler in front of him, and Peter bends over in mock pain. He knows he's selling it, judging by the shocked gasps and sympathetic "ooooo"s around him. 

His heart stops when he smells it. Blood. And his fingers are wet. His shirt is suddenly sticky. 

The blood bag ruptured from Flash's blow, and it's leaking out of a small hole that Peter had noticed and duct taped earlier in the week. So much for duct tape fixing everything. 

He doesn't dare stand up straight now. If anyone sees, they'll think it's his, and when they find out it's not, he won't be able to answer any questions they have. 

Panic tightens Peter's chest. It feels like there's a hand squeezing his heart and lungs. It's only his last two working brain cells that get him moving. He starts running while doubled over, hand still over his stomach. He puts his other hand to his mouth and students part like the Red Sea for him. No one gets in the way of someone who looks like they're going to vomit. 

He can hear Flash yell behind him, "Stay out of the way of my championship!" 

Peter makes it to the bathroom and quickly darts into the handicap stall. There's just a couple of stragglers left, they stare at him as he stumbles by, but otherwise they mind their own business. 

As soon as he locks the stall door, his bag slips out of his hand and drops with a wet plop sound. It splatters blood on the floor, a dark contrast compared to the light tan tiles. 

A panic attack threatens to tighten its hold on him again. He tries to breathe through it like Stark told him to. He tries the head between his knees trick. 

_ “Head between your knees. Just breathe,” Stark instructs calmly. _

_ “C-can't,” he chokes out. “I-I can't!”  _

_ “Yes you can. Inhale, hold it for three beats, and let it out. Repeat. You can do it.”  _

He remembers the way Stark held his shoulder and how he squeezed the man's hand back. Peter remembers how warm Stark is whenever he touches him. 

At first he's just uncomfortable and suffocating on his own emotions, but slowly, he can feel the desperation for air fall away. The pain in his chest becomes nonexistent and his nerves settle. 

_ That was close. That was way too fucking close _ .

He stands up. There is blood all over the bottom of his shirt and the front of his pants. There's no way he can walk out like this. Even is he waits until everyone is gone, he could be caught by a custodian, an after school club, and he _will_ be caught by the school's security cameras. He needs help.

He pulls out his phone, accidentally smearing blood on the screen. It's dripping off his fingers in thick droplets. He wipes them on his already ruined shirt. 

He looks sadly at the place on the floor where blood is pooling. He had really been looking forward to eating that.  _ What a waste _ .

Peter puts the passcode in his phone and pulls up his contacts. He hesitates before he clicks on the name. She picks up after three rings. 

"Peter?" 

"Hey, MJ, have you left school grounds yet?" he asks. 

"Um, no, I was waiting for you to come out." 

"Oh, thank God. I need you to come back inside. I need your help." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long. I went on vacation and when I came back, writer's block kept fighting me. This one was super hard to write just because my brain was so unfocused. I hope you enjoy it though. 
> 
> Your comments stroke my ego and feed my writing stability!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait. See notes at the end for my excuses. Enjoy!

 

Peter is cleaning up the blood on the floor with an excessive amount of paper towels when MJ barges in. He freezes mid stride to the garbage bin, dripping paper towels in his hands. His heart leaps in fear. 

She talks without looking up. "I got your backpack. Your locker is a mess, by the way. You should really clean that--" 

She cuts herself off when she finally looks up. Her eyes are fixed on the blood soaked wad of towels that he's still holding. MJ is as still as Peter now, both of them completely stunned. 

"You were supposed to knock," Peter finally says quietly. 

MJ just continues to stare, eyes growing slightly wider and wider with every passing moment. 

"Please, don't freak out!" Peter pleads. He finally continues to the garbage can just so he can put down the soiled towels and have his hands free again. 

She doesn't freak out. Well, not externally. She looks like she's screaming on the inside, but only her eyes indicate so. 

It does not calm Peter's nerves. He expected a more explosive reaction. He expected some yelling or crying or at least a face that reads disgust. 

Instead she drops his backpack on the ground and grabs some more paper towels from the dispenser. MJ heads toward the puddle of blood that peaks out of the bottom of the handicap stall now. 

Peter steps in front of her. "Whoa, whoa! That's not a good idea. You could get bloodborne pathogens from it. Just let me?" He holds his hands out in front of him.

She hesitates. Her face contorts into confusion, but she eventually drops the towels into Peter's stained hands. 

"Thank you." He hurries to clean the rest of it up. He knows he doesn't have much time before the janitor makes his rounds. The last thing they need is to be caught in such a questionable situation. 

MJ tries to make herself useful by having paper towels ready for him when he needs them. She starts wetting them in the sink when he's nearly got it all. Peter fills the trash can to its brim by the time he's done. 

Peter keeps looking at MJ, searching for any semblance of a meltdown. She stays silent. Her eyes are less wide, but more distant now. Like she's lost in thought. It's uncomfortable for Peter. He almost wishes she would freak out now. Maybe just a little bit.  _ At least ask questions _ . 

_ Please don't be afraid to ask questions _ . 

He peels the sticky layers of shirts off of him one at a time and shoves them into the trash, too. He pushes everything down, trying to compact it as much as possible. MJ's breath stutters when she sees his chest. 

Finally, there's a real expression on her face. One that Peter can indicate directly as confusion. Then he realizes that she thought it was his. She thought he was bleeding. She thought he was hurt. 

But she doesn't say anything. So neither does Peter. 

He cleans himself up easily, but even after washing his hands four times, dried blood is still under his fingernails. He was so focused on removing every drop and spot that he didn't hear the zipper of his backpack. He did hear MJ gasp. 

He looked up at her to see her holding his spare shirt in one hand and his Spider-Man suit in the other. She's staring at the suit. 

"Whose," she whispers so quietly that even Peter's advanced hearing hardly picks up on it over the running water. 

"What?" 

She looks up at him then. And there it is. The fear and shock and worry are finally showing on her face. "Whose is it?" 

Peter knows she's made the connection. MJ is too smart to believe any excuses or lies, even if he had come up with any. He could say it's just a costume, but Spider-Man has only had his new suit for a few days. No one is selling merch for it yet. MJ's too smart for that. 

She's too smart in general. 

He needs to get dumber friends. 

He turns the water off. "A blood donor's," he tells her. 

She doesn't believe him. He can tell. There's a distrust in her eyes now. 

"I'd show you the bag, but it's in the bottom of the garbage now." 

He reaches for the shirt she's holding and slowly pulls it out of her loose grasp. It's a plain black t-shirt. One that fits a little too tight for comfort. He puts it on anyway. It's just long enough to hide most of the stain on the front of his jeans.

"Why?" 

Peter sighs. "It's not a choice. Part of the whole powers thing, you know?" His tone is light and he lets out a nervous chuckle. 

MJ shakes her head. "No, I don't know," she says, voice flat. 

He drops his forced grin. "Right." 

They both jerk, heads whipping toward the door when it bangs open. The front of a yellow maintenance cart is pushing through, the sound of someone distractedly humming is just behind it. 

"Shit. It's time to go." Peter leaps at the ceiling, opening one of the tiles and moving it over as he lands on a beam above the tile fixtures. He reaches back down and offers his hand to MJ. 

She looks back at the door where the cart got wedged and stuck. The man behind it is wrestling with it to push it all the way through. 

"Do you trust me, MJ?" Peter's voice is urgent and his eyes are pleading.  _ Doe eyes at it again _ . 

She finally takes his offered hand. Peter pulls her up like she weighs nothing with grace that goes far beyond his awkward demeanor. MJ holds on to the beam with everything she has, knuckles turning white with effort. 

Peter takes the backpack from her and quickly digs out one of his web shooters. He spins a web around the trash bag that now has roughly a pint of blood smeared and spread around in it. Once he has a few stuck to the edges, he yanks, pulling it out of the trash can and up. He catches it, quickly putting the ceiling tile back. 

The janitor with a stuck cart never sees them. 

"That was close," he whispers to MJ. 

"Yeah, great. This is all great. Now what?" she snaps. 

"Follow me," Peter says as he swings his bag over his shoulder and holds the trash out in front of him. 

He crouches along the beam he's on and stops to peek under a tile to see where they are every now and then. MJ moves slower than he does out of fear of falling. Her steps are more careful and far less graceful. 

"Peter, just stop for a minute! I can't fuckin see anything," MJ grumbles. Her body is trembling uncontrollably as she loses her balance every few moments. 

Peter stops and looks back at her. She's several feet behind him and trying her best to catch up to him as fast as she can without falling. "We drop down here anyway." He managed to navigate them over the chemistry lab. 

He removes a tile and drops the trash bag. It lands with a plop on the hard floor. He hops down onto a counter and turns back to MJ. "Here," he reaches out offering both of his hands to help her down. 

She takes them both and tenses as she releases the beam. Peter helps guide her down until her feet are firmly atop the counter too. 

MJ scrambles away from Peter and down to the floor, letting out a breath of relief when she's on the ground again. Peter jumps down next to the trash bag and takes it to one of the windows. He looks out and down and he spots a dumpster just under the next window over. He opens that one and webs the lid of the dumpster so he can pull it open and drop the bloody trash into it. 

Peter finally lets out his own sigh of relief and leans against the wall. 

MJ stands up straight and meets his eyes. "So you're Spider-Man. Crime-fighting blood-sucker?" 

Peter visibly cringes at that. He's never been proud of his new lifestyle, but putting into blunt words makes it so much worse. He crosses his arms and looks at the ground. "It's not… I don't--er… I stopped taking from the criminals I catch." The words are weird to hear,  _ they're even harder to say _ . 

"Since when?" 

He shrugs. "Like two days ago?" 

MJ frowns. "What changed?" 

He meets her eyes again. "I'm not really supposed to talk about it, MJ. And you can't tell anyone," he adds quickly. "Please, even if you decide you never want to speak to me again, you  _ cannot _ tell  _ anyone _ ." 

"Who would I tell, Pete? It's not like anyone would believe me if I tried." Then under her breath she says, "This is crazy. Absolutely insane." 

He can't help the euphoria he feels when the panic and anxiety lifts off his chest. Just MJ saying his secret is safe with her is enough to make him feel safe. He's smiling at the ground. "Thank you," he tells her quietly. He clears his throat and says it again, louder. "Thank you." 

"Have you…" she says slowly while making gestures Peter doesn't understand. "You know, like… killed anyone?" 

"What? No! No, never--I would never-- I'm not a murderer," he stutters. "You think I've killed people?" 

She shrugs, her shoulders relaxing a little more when they fall. "Everyone kind of thinks Spider-Man has." 

While Peter knew he had a speculative reputation on the street, he didn't think it was that severe. 

She's staring at him like he grew a second head or like actual fangs just sprouted between his lips. "No one else knows?" 

Peter bows his head and shakes it no. Only Stark and his people, but he's not about to tell anyone that. 

"Wow… That sucks for you," she says. "You have the worst problem anyone in our school could have and you don't even have anyone to talk to about it." Leave it to MJ to put how shitty his life is in the most blatant terms. 

"Yeah, thanks for summing that up for me." He means to say it sarcastically, but it comes out more snippy than intended. She doesn't react anyway. MJ isn't intimidated easily, and despite her knowing how dangerous he can be, she remains unfazed by his outburst. 

For a moment, she doesn't say anything. He catches her looking at the door. He's pretty sure she's just going to turn to it and walk out, but to his surprise, she looks back to him. 

She opens her mouth and hesitates before asking, "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Peter perks up. "What? With you?" 

She nods. 

He's speechless for a moment. "You still want to be friends with me?" His incredulous tone makes his voice crack. 

"On one condition." 

"Um, okay."

"You tell me everything. No lies." 

Peter hesitates. He doesn't want to go against Stark. The man has given him so much and really only asked for discretion in return. On the other hand, he's not in any position to pass up MJ. Having her around, even if it has only been a day, has made him feel a lot better. 

He decides he can have both.

He deserves both. Right?

***

"Vampire?!" MJ practically screeches. 

Peter winces at her outburst and nods. "That's the word they used. I had the same reaction." 

She's pacing in her room while he sits on her bed, picking at the dark brown bits of dried blood that seem to be stuck under his nails. He's trying to focus on answering MJ's questions, not the smell coming from the corner of her room where small overflowing trash bin and a hamper of dirty clothes sit. 

It's not  _ that bad _ but it is  _ distracting _ . 

"No, you can't just tell me that vampires exist, are running a blood donor scam--" 

"It's not a scam," Peter tries to interject.

"--they have a mafia and not tell me who it is!" 

Peter winces again at her volume. "Just take it down a notch, okay? It's not the mafia. I can't tell you. I want to, trust me. It would blow your mind," he says, glancing up at her. "They make it out to be more like a community. It keeps them from having to fend for themselves. No one gets attacked, no one starves. It's better for everyone on both sides." 

She stops pacing, halting and spinning on her heels to face him. "You really believe that?" Her eyebrows are sky high. "Seriously?" 

"What am I supposed to do? I mean, you're right, it's shady. I don't trust them entirely, but for the first time in months, I'm not hungry!" An involuntary smile spreads over his features. It feels so good just to say it. The relief is still so fresh and new that it makes him eternally grateful to whatever god might be watching over him. 

MJ studies him for a moment before huffing out a sigh. Her eyes rest on his hands where he's still picking at his nails. She spins on her heels again and goes to pluck something from the top of her dresser. She pivots, coming right back to Peter, plopping down next to him. 

"Give me your hand, Twilight," she orders, holding out her own. 

MJ's other hand is holding a small, silver colored tool. Peter recognizes it from May's basket of toiletries, but he never really knew what it was for. 

As soon as he rests his hand in hers, she maneuvers it so she has easy access to his fingers. He watches as she gently scrapes the gunk out from underneath his nails. "Oh, is that what that's for?" 

MJ chuckles and rolls her eyes. "Ugh, boys," she says teasingly. 

They both fall silent as she works swiftly. Before he knows it, she's done. It took her two minutes. Peter had been working on that for over an hour and  _ it only took her two minutes _ . 

She plays with his hands when she's done, just looking them over and feeling them. 

"What's wrong?" Peter asks. 

"Nothing. You're warm. Books always say vampires are cold. No heartbeat." She shrugs it off. 

He pulls his hands from her and thrust them over his heart, feigning a stab. "You wound me. How dare you judge me based on stereotypes!" 

MJ laughs. 

"In fact, I run warmer than you now! I'll prove it to you," he says with a mischievous smile. "Come here!" 

She shrieks and scrambles off the bed. "No, no, don't you dare," she gasps out between laughter. 

Peter catches her on the ground and wraps himself around her, tickling her occasionally. She squirms and writhes and giggles breathlessly, but he has her firmly pinned to the carpet. 

She smacks at him playfully. "Stop it! Stop it! I can't breathe!" she wheezes. 

Peter let's up on the tickling, but he continues to cling to her as her laughter dies and her breathing regulates. 

She twists so she's facing him. "For real, though," she tells him, "be careful with these people. Promise me you'll keep your guard up?" The serious tone she suddenly takes is daunting. 

"I promise," he says. He means it too. He gives her a squeeze for emphasis. 

"Okay."

"Okay."

***

Peter doesn't expect to be called while patrolling that night. He doesn't expect anyone to call him at three in the morning. He definitely doesn't expect Tony Stark to be calling him during his patrol at three in the morning. 

He swings and lands on the nearest rooftop to answer. "Mr. Stark?" 

"Hey, kid. How's patrol tonight?" 

Peter isn't exactly sure how to answer that. Mostly just because he's still surprised. "Um, hi. It's good, everything is good! I-I wasn't expecting you to call," he stammers. 

"What? I can't check in on my newest recruit?" Stark asks rhetorically, his voice light and cheery. "In all seriousness,  I do need to make sure your using your rations for the week wisely. Some people forget they can still run out before the Milk Man does his rounds." 

"Oh. I counted mine. I know how much I can eat every day," he tells Stark as he spots a pigeon returned to her nest on the other side of the rooftop.

"Good. Good. I figured you would. Just had to make sure." Stark sighs and continues, "Turns out, business is being cut short here so if you want to come to the lab Saturday, I'll be back then."

Peter feels a shot of nervousness at the thought of seeing Stark again. Not the kind of nervousness that he should have. Not the kind when you know you're going to see someone dangerous.  

It's the kind of nervousness for untouchable people. The anxiety of meeting someone bigger than you.  _ Fucking hero worship _ . "O-okay. Yeah, absolutely! Sounds cool. I'll see you there." 

"See you there, kid." The line goes dead. 

The pigeon cocks her head at him and coos. It sounds like nagging of some sort to his ears.

"Don't look at me like that. You don't know the situation," he sasses back. 

She just fluffs her feathers and darts her eyes somewhere else. 

"I'm talking to a bird," Peter says to himself. He feels stupid even though no one is here to see him make nonsense of himself. 

***

Friday passes both too slowly and far too quickly for Peter. MJ takes one look at him and frowns. When she asks him why he's so tense, he just gives her a dismissive answer. 

School seems to drag on, but the moment the last bell rings, everything is a blur. He gets his homework done, watches TV with May, and goes on patrol. The city is so oddly quiet that he only ends up swinging through the streets, no obvious crimes to stop. 

Or maybe Peter is just so distracted that he's not looking hard enough. He can't stop thinking about the pen incident last time he was in Stark's lab. His brain just keeps producing the worst possible projections of equally cringeworthy scenarios for tomorrow. 

He ends up going home before one AM. 

May works early until evening on Saturdays so their home is quiet and still until Peter rises from his bed after finishing a Star Wars novel. It's hardly noon when he checks his phone. 

Nothing from Stark. 

Peter doesn't know exactly what time he's supposed to show up, but he decides to swing there in early afternoon. It's not a well thought out plan because it starts raining on him a downpour so sudden that his spider sense only have a moment to warm him. Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance. 

The sky was dark with heavy clouds, but He didn't think it was supposed to storm, but it's not like he checked the weather before he left. 

In just minutes, Peter's suit is soaked through and the wind that rushes past him makes him shudder. Swinging in a storm is a little more difficult so Peter runs along rooftops when he can and jumps the spaces between. He curses when he realizes everything in his backpack is probably just as wet as he is now. 

Oh well. It's too late to go back home for dry clothes now. He can hardly see the tower as he nears it, the rain obscuring his vision. 

Peter scales the building and climbs up to the window he knows is Stark's living quarters. He moves quickly, hoping to get out of the rain. He knocks on the glass and tries yelling over the storm. "Um…FRIDAY? Can you hear me? Can you let me in?" 

She doesn't reply but the window slides, seemingly by itself. It leaves an opening just wide enough for Peter to crawl through. When he does, it shuts right behind him. 

He drops to the floor and rips off his mask. His hair is plastered to his face so he shakes like a dog in hope of looking less stupid, but it probably backfired. Not that he could check, he didn't have a mirror. 

Peter sniffles and scans the room. It's dark, even for his eyes. The windows are blacked out and the lights are off. He has to wait for his eyes to adjust before venturing further. 

He was pretty sure he jumped in through Stark's workshop windows, but he could begin to see that he miscalculated. There are two couches and a chair facing a TV over an unlit fireplace, a large kitchen on the other side of the room, an island bar counter separating the two, a liquor bar, and lots of art and decorations that Peter dared not touch in fear of breaking them. He feels guilty for just standing there, dripping water all over the place. 

This is more or less a really fancy living room with an attached kitchenette. "Mr. Stark?" he called out. 

"Boss is in the lab, Mr. Parker," FRIDAY says quietly. "Should I tell him you're here?"

"No, it's okay. He knows I was coming today." He goes to the elevator and FRIDAY takes him where he wants to go. 

The lab is dark too. He doesn't see any movement, either. "FRI, are you sure--" 

Stark jerks up from the holopad he was slumped over. The sound of Peter's voice cutting through the silence startles him out of his seat and into a standing position. 

"Peter?" he calls out, breathing ragged. The faint glow of the arc reactor moves in time. Peter tries not to stare at it. "What are you doing here?" 

Peter tenses. "I-You called me, remember? You said I should come by today," he says quickly. He hopes he recalls correctly. He didn't want to show up unannounced and uninvited. 

Stark walks toward him and rubs his eyes like someone who just woke up. Peter can see the dark rings underneath them as he comes closer. He can also smell garlic coming off of him strongly. It makes him want to wrinkle his nose, but he manages to stop himself. "Shit, I'm sorry. I forgot." 

Peter crosses his arms and shivers, the cold finally getting to him. 

Stark notices and frowns, looking Peter up and down. "Why are you dripping all over my floors, kid?" 

Peter clears his throat. "Uh, I kind of swung over in a storm." He shrugs off his backpack and drops it to the floor. It lands with a wet plop. "And my normal clothes got soaked too." 

"Hell, you're going to get sick! Come on. I'll get you something dry. And then we're putting a heater in that suit." Stark guides him back to the elevator, hand on his shoulder. 

Stark's touch is always warm, but it feels a thousand times warmer when Peter is freezing in a cold, dripping wet, form fitting suit. He shudders at the pleasant feeling. 

"Were you…sleeping?" Peter asks hesitantly as they ride up two floors. 

Stark chuckles. "Yeah, you caught me abusing my vampire  sedatives. It's still wearing off so you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little out of it." 

The elevator let's them off into a hallway. Stark continues to lead the way. "You make yourself sleep?" He sniffs the air again and adds, "With garlic?" 

"How'd you know it was garlic?" 

Peter scoffs. "Sir, I could smell it on you without heightened senses." 

Stark breathes into his hand and smells his own breath, suddenly cringing at it. "Ugh, you're right," he coughs out. 

"So the garlic thing is real?" 

"Surprisingly, yes. It's one of the few true vampire legends. It's not lethal, but in high doses it can knock us on our asses for a little while." 

It makes total sense to Peter. "That's why spaghetti night makes me tired," he says out loud. 

Stark laughs and claps Peter on the shoulder. "Yeah, that's probably it." 

They stop in front of a door that opens when Stark steps in front of it. Moving in, Peter realizes it's a bedroom. It's much larger than any bedroom ever needs to be. He stops mid-step and his heart speeds up when his brain finally makes the connection. 

This is  _ Tony Stark's bedroom _ . 

He's in  _ Iron Man's bedroom _ . 

Stark notices the panicked look on Peter's face. "What's wrong?" 

Peter swallows. "This is your bedroom," he states dumbly. "We're in your bedroom." 

"Yes? This is where the dry clothes are," Stark reminds him, giving him a concerned look. "You okay, Parker? Got something against bedrooms?" His tone is teasing, now. His smirk is almost flirtatious if Peter were to squint. 

Peter shakes his head and mentally scolds himself, but his cheeks still blush without his consent. "No. Sorry." 

Stark walks into an adjacent room and comes back out with a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. They both look too big, but they'll do for now. He hands them to Peter. "Bathroom is through there," Stark says, gesturing to the wall behind Peter. 

Peter mutters a thank you and makes sure to close the door behind him. The suit is way harder to peel off when it's wet. His skin feels damp and cold when it meets the air. Stark's clothes sag on him. Looking in the full length mirror on the door, he can't help but feel stupid in the too-large Led Zeppelin shirt.  _ Beggars can't be choosers _ . 

At least they smell nice. 

He steps out, holding the wet Spider-Man suit in a ball. 

"Warmer?" Stark asks. 

Peter nods. 

"C'mon then." They head back down to the lab. 

Once they're back in the elevator, Peter says, "You never answered me." 

"About what?" 

"Why do you make yourself sleep?" 

Stark sighs and shrugs. "It's nice to turn everything off every once in a while. I used to do drugs before just to make my brain shut up and slow down. Now they have little to no effect. The garlic is a good way to make everything quiet. Just for a few hours." 

"Is that…Is it safe?" Peter asks hesitantly. The elevator door opens and they walk off. 

"Probably not." 

Peter doesn't like that response. 

The lighting is only slightly brighter when they step out. Stark immediately pulls up the design for Peter's suit and starts planning a heating system within it. Peter watches the man closely, skeptical that he could even make it work, let alone make it practical. 

Of course, Stark exceeds expectations. He always does. 

Before long, Stark calls out to FRIDAY. "I need an installment on this immediately, FRI." 

"You got it, Boss. It will take approximately forty-two minutes," she confirms. 

Stark takes the damp suit from its place near Peter and turns it inside-out. He peels back the removable inner lining to reveal the hardware within the fabric. It gets set on a table where two mechanical arms begin fidgeting over it. 

Peter watches in wonder. He didn't know there was so much wiring in his suit. He'd only thought it was a small upgrade compared to his old suit, but he's beginning to see that it does more than he's gotten to discover yet. 

"You mind if I play some music, Peter?" Stark asks. His eyes still look far away and red-rimmed, but better than they had when he first arrived.

Peter shakes his head. "I don't mind." 

Something Peter's heard before sounds quietly from the ceiling. He knows it's an eighties song and he knows one line in its chorus, but he doesn't remember the title or the band. "Is this Led Zeppelin?" 

Stark whips his head around and stares at Peter like he offended him. "This is ACDC's 'Back In Black.' How in God's name do you not know this song? It's an American classic!" 

Peter shrugs his shoulders. "Don't know. It's kind of old. Ned usually makes playlists for me. Er, he used to." 

"FRIDAY, download The Greats into Peter's phone so he doesn't turn out as musically tasteless as the rest of his generation," Stark calls. 

She doesn't respond, but Peter's phone lights up with a notification from where it's resting face-up. "Thanks, Mr. Stark." 

Stark cringes. "That's another thing. Call me Tony. All this 'Mr. Stark' and 'sir' make me think of my dad. It's just Tony, okay?" 

"O-okay, Mr.--er, I mean Tony," he tries. The name doesn't sound natural rolling off his tongue. 

Stark laughs. "Kid, that was pathetic. C'mon, try again." 

Peter clears his throat. Stark--no. Tony sits next to him, facing him, eyebrows raised and waiting for Peter to step up to the challenge. "Tony," he says again. This time it's all breath with hardly a squeak of voice. 

Tony leans forward. "Why is it so hard? It's the same amount of syllables as your name." 

Peter can feel his own cheeks burning. He almost turns his head to hide his blush, but Tony gently takes Peter's chin in one hand and uses his thumb and fingers to squeeze both cheeks. "Tony. Tony," the man tells him in rhythm with his squeezes. 

Peter can't help the giggles that bubble out of him. They don't stop until Tony swipes the corner of Peter's mouth with his thumb. Tony is staring at his parted lips with a hunger Peter never expected to be directed at him. 

His brain short circuits. He can't move. He's not even breathing. 

Tony finally meets Peter's startled gaze and only then seems to snap out of whatever trance he had been momentarily trapped in. He retracts his hand and clears his throat. "Uh. Sorry, kid. I've been told I get a little handsy when I'm…" Tony's charming smirk suddenly looks more like a mask than his natural features. A blush of his own tints his face. "Can we just forget that ever happened?" 

But Peter doesn't want to forget. Even if his screaming thoughts would let him, he still would hold onto that look in the older man's eyes. That split moment is all his mind needs to run wild with possibilities. It feeds a crush that should be dying instead. 

"Okay, Tony." He says it right this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, so sorry for the long wait. Not only did I have writer's block, but MJ kept getting away from me. I really like writing her. Originally, I wasn't going to have her in it, but then far from home came out and I was like "fuck it. I gotta make her and Peter buddies." The problem is I my mind wants to keep expanding on her and Peter when it's a starker fic. 
> 
> But i finally got it back on track with the plot I have planned. (Yes, I finally actually have a plot for the first time. It's a shitty plot but at least I have a planned finish point. THIS FIC WILL NOT BE ABANDONED)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I promise to make a better effort at updating quicker. Ciao my fellow sluts.


	8. Chapter 8

Peter's skin itches with giddy energy the more he thinks about it. The rest of their time together was stilted with silence and the occasional awkward small talk. Tony had given him a circuit board to play with, and then dismissed him as soon as the suit was finished. 

What Tony seemed to be embarrassed about, Peter was thrilled with. The moment won't stop playing in his head now. He's laying on his bed, smiling like an idiot at the ceiling. 

He wishes he could go back to that moment. He wants to brand the feeling of Tony's hand on his face, warm and gentle and  _ playful _ . Peter imagines a scenario where he made the leap and met Tony's waiting lips. Where they would end up making out. Where they would end up rutting against each other. 

The fantasy makes heat stir low in Peter's belly. 

May knocks on his door and his daydream dissipates in thin air. She comes in before he can invite her. "You busy?" 

Peter sits up and shrugs. "No. Why?" He's still in a good mood despite the disturbance. 

"That lawyer cleared your employee contract thingy. No garbage loopholes or anything illegal. Which is a little disappointing," she frowns. "I was getting pepped to pick a fight with a billionaire." 

"I completely forgot about that. So we can sign it?" he asks, hopeful. He's throwing his old cautions to the wind and trusting Tony. He promised MJ he'd be careful and he intends to keep that promise by being wary, but hasn't found any reason to believe Tony is trying anything malicious.

May held the packet of papers out to him. "Yes, but are you  _ sure _ you want to work for him. You know you don't have to." 

He takes the contact from her. "It's  _ Iron Man _ , May. This is the greatest opportunity in the world. I'm Tony Stark's personal intern! It will look so good on my college applications," he adds, trying to include a reason that isn't just  _ it's awesome _ and  _ I really want to _ . 

Not to mention the part where he needs to be there in order to eat. 

She nods. "Okay." 

They sign it over Peter's desk and May bids him goodnight. 

***

He doesn't know why he texts MJ and tells her everything about "the encounter." (While conveniently leaving out Tony's identity.) It's nearly nine on a Saturday night and she's less receptive than usual. Peter figures she's doing something else too. 

Maybe she's doing some amazing political shit. Like protesting. Or writing about some current event on a secret blog. He knows she wants to be a reporter some day. 

Peter looks at the time and decides he might as well start patrolling. The suit is thankfully dry now. The flash storm passed and left the city smelling like wet pavement. It reminds him a little of springtime. 

For a moment, he lets himself enjoy it. It's a calming contrast to the adrenaline kicking in as he swings above the city. 

The smell is abruptly ruined by something else wafting up through an alley Peter has just leaped over. He stops and skids on the roof of a building, nearly stumbling off of it. 

Turning back and peering down the dark alley, Peter can tell that the smell is blood. Soiled and exposed blood. A lot of it. He spots a woman lying next to a dumpster and jumps down to help. 

"Miss? Are you okay?" he asks. He almost lands in the dark puddle that surrounds her. She doesn't move. She doesn't even breathe. 

Peter feels his chest tighten and his throat close up. He hopes his suspicion is wrong. 

Her blonde hair is strewn over her face and her clothes are spotted with dark, red spots. "M-Miss?" he asks again. He reaches for her shoulder and rolls her so she's on her back, facing the sky. 

Peter jumps back when her hair falls to reveal open eyes. But those eyes are lifeless and unblinking. 

It's not the first dead body Peter has found. 

Ben was first, a hole in his chest and unblinking, spitting out blood with his last breath. 

An old homeless man who had died in his sleep was second. The man's dog had led Peter to him and wouldn't stop whimpering and licking at its owner. Peter cried and tried to comfort the dog until police and animal control arrived. 

This woman is third. 

_ This girl _ . 

Peter can see how young she is now. His age. Maybe just a little older, but still so young. 

And there's a human bite mark where her neck meets shoulder and chest. 

He thinks he might be sick. He rips his mask off so he doesn't drown in his own vomit. 

Peter pulls his phone out of his suit and dials Tony. 

***

It's only five minutes later when an Iron Man suit swoops down and stops behind Peter. It opens up and Tony steps out of it, wearing a tailored three piece that probably cost more than Peter's entire wardrobe combined. He looks like he just came from something important. 

Meanwhile Peter is trying to keep himself both from crying and throwing up. He knows his hair is absolutely ruined after wearing the mask. 

They couldn't look more opposite. 

"You okay, kid?" Tony asks as he approaches. He looks so genuinely concerned that it makes Peter wonder if he looks worse than he first thought. 

Peter nods and swallows thickly. "I just--She's so young and I can't--" His voice wavers and cuts out. He tries taking a deep breath before talking again. "It looks like someone drained her… and she fought back."

Tony turns him so he doesn't have to look at the body. "You were right to call me. The police would blame you if anyone else saw this." 

Peter pales. He hasn't even considered that. He just knows that Tony has more experience in dealing with other vampires, and he knows they have a better chance at finding whoever did this together. 

Peter's silence makes Tony look even more worried. He brings a hand over the shoulder of Peter's suit and squeezes comfortingly. "Are you sure you're okay?" 

"I might throw up," he tells the older man. Peter clutches his stomach and bends over. He doesn't puke, but the feeling still sits in the back of his throat. There's just so much blood. Usually it might smell a bit appetizing, to his own disgust, but it's dead and soiled, sitting over dumpster alley dirt for God knows how long. 

Tony's hand moves to his back and runs soothing circles until it rests over the nape of his neck. 

It helps. It helps a lot. Peter manages to calm down. 

"Stay right here, okay? I'm going to go have a look at the body," Tony says calmly. 

Peter just nods. He doesn't ever want to look at it again. 

Tony is only over there for a moment when Peter's spider sense flares up out of nowhere. He let's instinct move his body as it shifts toward Tony and throws itself over the distance between them with practiced ease. 

He knocks Tony back and out of the way of a dart. one much like the ones the man had once used on Peter before. It misses its intended target and Peter only feels it hit his shoulder before his vision begins to darken. 

He can hear Tony yelling his name, but it fades fast before he's unconscious. 

***

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is that his suit is gone. Peter is laying on a rock and dirt floor in only his boxer briefs. It's cold and dank like a basement. Like he's underground.  _ In a cave _ ? 

Sitting up takes a lot more effort than it ever should. The moment he's upright, his head starts spinning. He rubs his eyes to make it stop.  _ Whatever is in those fucking sedatives is awful _ and Peter can't wait for it to wear off so he and Tony can kick the ass of whoever targeted them. 

_ Tony _ ! 

Peter springs up at the memory of what happened and finally looks around. He is in some kind of cave or underground tunnel. The particular nook he has been dumped in has a cement wall and a metal door, keeping him trapped in what is a makeshift cell. It's large, but barren of only him and Tony.

His heart leaps in his throat when he spots Tony on the floor, laying so uncomfortably that it makes Peter wince in sympathy. 

Peter stumbles over and sits on his knees next to Tony's head. He moves the man so he's on his back, head resting in Peter's lap. "Tony?" he calls to him, hoping to wake him. The man doesn't stir. "Mr. Stark?" he tries again. 

Nothing. 

He knows his body probably burns through the drug faster than anyone else. 

Tony Stark looks disheveled now. He's still wearing his designer suit, but it's torn and rumpled in various places. A skinned knee is completely exposed through a gaping hole in his right pant leg. Tony's dark, fluffy hair is mussed and a few, already fading bruises spot his face. 

He looks like he had a chance to fight their captor before ultimately being drugged too. 

Peter runs his fingers through Tony's hair, brushing it out of his face. He sits like that for a long time. He knows he could probably pry the door open and escape, but if he wants to get them both out, it will be better when Tony can fight too. 

So he sits and he waits. 

His body gets cold with his lack of clothing and his legs fall asleep. He eventually moves them to the back wall where Peter now sits cross legged, still with Tony's head in his lap. 

Peter is shivering when Tony finally stirs. "Kid," he says quietly, voice hoarse. 

"Oh, thank God!" Peter almost yells in relief as he lays his body over Tony's in an awkward hug. 

"Where are we?" Tony looks around only to see their vacant cell. Lighting is shoddy with only two hastily installed fixtures hanging by their wires from the ceiling. 

Peter pulls away and helps Tony sit up. "I don't know. Somewhere underground," he says. Another shiver wracks his body. "They took my suit," he grumbles. 

Tony groans and rubs his eyes. "Not again. I can't do this again," he says, defiant. He stands on shaking legs and stumbles toward the door before Peter has a chance to reach out and stop him. The man pounds on the door. At first his hands only hit it weakly, but as the drug fades, his strength returns. 

Peter stands and watches in astonishment at the bold behavior. He's surprised to see that Tony's fists manage to leave a few shallow dents in the thick metal door. 

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asks as he approaches. 

The man doesn't stop. Even after one of his knuckles starts bleeding, he doesn't stop. 

"Tony, you're hurting yourself," Peter says trying to reason. 

But he keeps going. 

"Tony, stop, please." Peter takes Tony's wrists into each of his hands and turns him around. He uses his strength to immobilize each arm. "Stop hurting yourself, please," Peter begs. He hates to use his superior strength like this, but he can't watch this any longer. 

There's a panicked look in Tony's eyes. "No, no! This can't happen again," he insists. 

"It's okay, it's going to be ok--" 

"It is not okay!" Tony yells and thrashes against Peter's hold with no give. "The last time I was trapped in a cave, the other guy didn't make it out." 

Peter can make out more than panic now. He can see the desperation and trauma in Tony's nearly black eyes. He realizes that this is a panic attack. It's different than his own, but it's clear now in the way Tony's breathing is shallow and labored. 

_ And restraining him is making it worse _ . 

Peter lets go of Tony's wrists and the man drops to his knees in front of him. Peter presses on his back and guides him into a child's pose. "Head between your knees. Just breathe." 

Tony listens and takes forced, deep breaths. He does it for a long time. 

"Yinsen wasn't your fault," Peter tells him quietly. 

Tony lifts his head, eyes shining. "Yes he was. He died because of me." 

"He died because the Ten Rings guys killed him," Peter argues. 

"He died because I drank him dry, Peter." 

Peter can't help looking confused. "But you said--" 

"I lied," he admits. "I have drank live before. Yinsen was shot down. He told me to take what I could. That it would give me strength." 

"Tony--" 

Tony cuts him off again, "I'm not the hero." 

Peter considers his words carefully. He knows that it's not true, but Tony won't hear it. He thinks if he were in Tony's place, he'd think the same way. So he says, "You're right" 

This makes Tony look at him. Really look at him and actually hear him. 

"You weren't the hero that time. But you were when you carried that nuke through an alien portal into space. And you were the hero when Ultron tried to kill everyone…. And you were the hero when you saved me at Stark Expo." 

Tony sits up, staring at Peter like that doesn't make sense. "You were at the Expo battle?" 

"I begged Ben and May to take me. And it was really cool at first. They bought me an Iron Man helmet and light-up gloves." Peter can see the moment Tony remembers. "I got split up from them after the other robots started blowing things up. One of them was going to shoot me but you got it first. You said 'Nice work, kid' and then you flew off again." 

He can see Stark do a mental backtrack of that night. "That was you?" Tony asks incredulously. 

"Yeah, that was me." Peter smiles at Tony. "Now you're going to calm down, come up with a plan, and we're going to save each other this time." He likes the way his own voice sounds so firm and confident right now. Usually he only feels like this with his mask on. 

Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head, a small smirk pulling at his mouth. "Okay. Yeah, let's do this." 

"Is the drug still affecting you?" Peter asks. 

Tony nods. "Just a little. It's just dizziness now." 

"Let's just take a second then," Peter suggests. "You were out a lot longer than me. And it looks like they hit your face a couple of times."

He touches the darkest swell on his jaw and winces. "Yeah, the guy was a lot faster than me," Tony agrees. "It was a very elaborate trap." He thinks back on it for a moment. "How did you know?" 

"Know what?" 

"How did you know that dart was coming at me? You were facing the other way." 

Peter shrugs. "I have this sixth sense. I get like a tingle when something dangerous is about to happen. It's how I dodge bullets." 

Tony looks impressed. "Fascinating. Do you have any more secret powers you'd like to share with me?" 

"No, not really," he replies. Another shiver wracks his body and he really wishes he had a blanket. 

Tony wordlessly shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over Peter's shoulders. 

"Oh," he says, surprised, "thank you." Peter pulls it together in the front and tries not to react to the fact the it smells mostly like Tony. He immediately feels much better. "Do you know who wanted to trap you? Did you see their face?" 

"They were wearing a mask, but I think I know who it is." Tony glares at the door. "And I'm going to kill him for dragging you into this." 

"Whoa," Peter chastises. "Kill him? Who is this guy?" 

Tony sighs and looks back to Peter. "I've made a lot of powerful enemies over the years. This particular man is not physically powerful, but he has been stealing alien technology from my cleanup crew to make specialized weapons. He's been selling them on the streets to criminals." 

"Okay, so he's a bad guy. But what does he have against you specifically?" Peter asks. 

"I sent one of mine in his crew, undercover. When I stopped hearing from them, I figured they had been found out. And now I'm pretty sure they were tortured into giving up information on me. Which is how he knew I'd investigate the girl in the alley and how he knew how to sedate me," Tony explained. "His name is Adrienne Toomes." 

"You sent one person undercover in a gang where it's okay to torture? Are you insane?!" Peter yells. The absurdity of their situation just seems to get more and more horrific the more he learns about it.

"I didn't think Toomes was  _ that _ much of a bastard until he attacked me in an alley. The way he ruthlessly used his weapons on me made me think I made a huge mistake." 

Peter opens his mouth, but the words die in his throat. He want to yell some more. He wants to tell Tony how stupid he thinks that all sounds, but he knows escaping is more important at the moment. He swallows his protests and instead says, "Well, how do we fight him?" 

"I have no idea, kid." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up demons. Its ya boi. Just gonna leave this chapter hear super late cuz you know.....writing is fucking hard. Anyway, enjoy. More to come but probably not quickly!


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